


steady as the stars

by lazyweekendmornings



Series: ayfw verse [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War, lots of feelings (as always)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyweekendmornings/pseuds/lazyweekendmornings
Summary: The war is over and Ginny returns to school, but it isn't easy to pretend like everything is the same as before.[sequel to 'all your fumble words']
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: ayfw verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480055
Comments: 110
Kudos: 197





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> so! i began this sequel as a nanowrimo project, but illness and life meant i couldn't quite keep up with the word count (although i am PERSEVERING). in order to motivate me to keep going, i thought i'd begin posting it, since the first few chapters are all written. 
> 
> there'll be a new chapter in this fic every monday! if you'd like to request a one-shot in this verse or talk to me about this fic, my writing tumblr is [here](http://www.lazyweekendmornings.tumblr.com)
> 
> hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think! it'll motivate me to write faster <3

_ We grow, grow, steady as the morning _   
_ We grow, grow, older still _   
_ We grow, grow, happy as a new dawn _ _   
We grow, grow, older still_

*****

The first Hogsmeade weekend goes about as well as Ginny could have hoped for, all things considered. Autumn is properly in the air, and a breeze flutters around the bottom of her jumper, lifting it slightly to expose the bare skin of her hip as she walks.

Hermione walked down with Dean and Seamus this morning, but Ginny and Luna had been busy in the morning beginning work on the _ Quibbler _, student edition. So they set off at noon, cozy jumpers on and chatting cheerfully as they go.

“Filch was in a real mood this morning, wasn’t he?” Ginny says. Her wand is held tightly in her hand, but she relaxes her grip the further down the path they walk, the closer they get to Hogsmeade.

“Oh, yes. It was like he was stung by a Blibbering Humdinger, in a not very favourable place,” Luna says, serene as ever. Ginny wonders what it would take to get her to shout. “Which, maybe he was. We do have an infestation at Hogwarts, you know.”

“Yes, maybe, but we also have an infestation of dickheads, and he’s the leader of them all,” Ginny says. She bumps her shoulder against Luna’s, and they both giggle.

Luna’s wearing a set of neon green robes, which she’s matched with pink earrings that have feathers dangling off them, and a long golden chain around her neck that’s glinting in the dim autumnal sunshine.

“It’s a pretty necklace,” Ginny says, after a moment or two of companionable silence.

Luna lifts the pendant dangling off the necklace to show Ginny. She leans in to take a closer look. It’s not a pendant, after all: it’s a round, familiar looking coin. “The DA coin?” Ginny says, looking up and meeting Luna’s eyes.

“Yeah. It’s nice, isn’t it?” Luna says.

Ginny feels suddenly, inexplicably, close to tears. She looks away, up at the sun for a moment until the burning in her eyes subsides. “Very nice,” she says.

“I can make you one, if you’d like,” Luna offers. “That way you feel it right over your heart when there’s a message.”

Ginny nods. She doesn’t feel ready to talk, not quite yet.

Sometimes she thinks Luna is the only one who truly understands how it feels to be back at Hogwarts with her. Neville isn’t back with them, he’s with the Aurors and Harry instead, and no one else _ truly _understands. Luna never talks to her about the Carrows, or the Malfoys, or the Lestranges, or any of the that. And on the rare occasion that she does mention it, it’s always calm and matter-of-fact. And she never probes Ginny to talk when she doesn’t want to.

“When are Quidditch tryouts?” Luna asks. “You won’t be able to report if you’re Quidditch Captain, will you?”

“I suppose not. Who will you ask to report it, then?” Ginny wonders. “Tryouts are next Saturday.” She’s very much looking forward to Quidditch tryouts, to being back in the air, to have something to take her mind off everything around her. It’s only been a couple of weeks since she’s last played Quidditch, but she’s been missing it every morning.

“I don’t know. We’ve got Anthony Goldstein doing the Ravenclaw tryouts,” Luna says.

Ginny thinks about it for a moment. “Maybe Demelza Robbins? She’s a decent sort,” she suggests. A sudden pang in her chest makes her skip a step and nearly stumble when she thinks of Colin Creevey. Ernest, wide-eyed Colin Creevey, who would probably have considered it an honour to be part of their publication, who would’ve taken pictures and written articles until his fingers were sore.

She doesn’t know what’s gotten into her today. If she didn’t know better, she would be looking around for Dementors. Her heart aches, as if there’s some sort of heavy weight on it, and even though she feels better and lighter the further away from Hogwarts they are, it doesn’t ease up.

It’s lunchtime by the time they reach Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks is crowded full of people, visible even from a distance. Ginny’s relieved they don’t have to go there; luckily, they’ve already made plans elsewhere.

“Let’s go to Ab’s,” she says. “Hermione and the others will be waiting for them there.”

Ginny’s been going to Hogsmeade for several years now, but the Hog’s Head has never changed in all that time. Neville’s told her about how they used it last year, when the remaining members of the DA went into hiding in the Room of Requirement and needed food, how Aberforth Dumbledore came through for them. It seemed as good a place to meet up with the others today as any.

For the first time that she can remember, the Hog’s Head isn’t vaguely abandoned-looking and abandoned looking. When she and Luna enter, she looks around. Immediately, she spots a table in the corner, half-hidden in the shadows. Ron and Hermione are sitting next to each other, Ron’s arm wrapped around Hermione. Opposite them, Neville’s sitting, sipping a Butterbeer and talking to—

Harry. Who’s next to Neville. He’s got purple shadows under his eyes, and his beard’s grown back in, a bit. His hair is even scruffier than usual, and his glasses are slipping down his nose as he gesticulates about something.

“Oh, there they are,” Luna says happily. She takes Ginny’s elbow and tugs her towards the table. The others look up at them, and they all let out cheers of greeting.

“Day drinking, I see. Always a good idea,” Ginny says, slipping into the seat next to Harry. Harry turns to look at her, and his bright green eyes light up.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey yourself,” Ginny says and grabs his Firewhiskey, takes a small sip and wrinkles her nose. God, she’s missed him. Once she’s swallowed her drink, she grabs the collar of Harry’s t-shirt and tugs on it, pulls him down, leans up to kiss him. He tastes like Firewhiskey and his lips are chapped against hers, but he rests his hand on the small of her back as he kisses her back and Ginny slowly starts to feel like things are right in the universe again.

“Don’t I get a greeting?” Ron says. His voice is teasing, and Ginny lifts her hand up to flip him off without pulling away from the kiss.

Harry moves back after a minute, gives her the sort of soft, fond smile he reserves for her. “Hey,” he says again.

Ginny returns his smile with one of her own, and then turns to look at Ron. “Hello, Ron,” she says with exaggerated sweetness, but her smile is genuine, despite everything. She has missed him. “Hey, Neville. I didn’t know you were coming,” she adds.

“Oh, Luna wrote to me, said I should join all of you for the first Hogsmeade trip,” Neville says. Luna’s settled down next to him.

“I thought it might be nice to see him,” Luna says with a half-shrug. “Hi, Ron, and Harry. It’s very nice to see you both again.”

“Hi, Luna,” Ron says. “How’s term been going so far?”

“Oh, you know. It’s been going alright,” Luna says. “McGonagall pretends not to notice when she sees me in the Gryffindor common room, which is nice.”

“You really shouldn’t be there, you know,” Hermione says. Ginny resists the urge to roll her eyes, but with difficulty. Hermione’s Head Girl streak rears its head at the strangest circumstances, honestly.

“We survived a war, Hermione, I reckon we’re past House rules now,” she tells her. She feels Harry’s arm wrap around her shoulder, his thumb rub at the faint scar on her shoulder.

“Well, yes, but we’re back at school now and we shouldn’t act as if we’re above the rules,” Hermione says. She’s got her worried face on. Ginny associates it with DA meetings and exam revision.

“If McGonagall’s alright with it, then I don’t think you need to worry, babe,” Ron says.

Ginny slowly turns, meets Harry’s eyes. _ Babe? _She mouths to him, and Harry’s lips twitch.

“Anyway,” Ron continues, impervious to their exchange, “have you heard from your parents?”

Hermione nods. “Yeah, I’ve been writing to them. But… it’s taking a while. They’re still in Australia, owls take a while to reach and there’s no other way for them to reach me at Hogwarts…”

Ginny frowns. She knows that Hermione’s parents intended to come back earlier in the summer, in August, but they’ve been finding one reason or another to postpone the move for the past couple of months. It’s been weighing on her, Ginny knows. Sometimes, she hears Hermione crying in the nights. She never quite knows how to react.

Ron seems to deal with it far better than she does. He holds her even tighter, his forehead rumpled up with lines as he frowns.

“Do you know when they’re coming back?” Harry asks.

“They say they definitely want to be back for Christmas, but… I don’t know,” Hermione says. Her bottom lip trembles.

“Well, if they’re not there for Christmas, you can come stay with us,” Ron says with a small smile.

Hermione nods, seemingly cheered up by this.

“What about me?” Ginny murmurs to Harry, once the other four are immersed in conversation about, of all things, _ Mimblus Mimbletonia _. “You haven’t invited me over to your flat to stay with you during the holidays yet.”

Harry chuckles, low. “Molly’s already told me that me and Ron and George need to come stay at the Burrow during Christmas. Besides, since when do you need an invite?”

Ginny considers. Fair enough. “Okay, but I’m coming to yours after Christmas.”

“Yeah?” Harry seems delighted. “George’s clearing up the office in the flat and moving it downstairs, to a room off the shop. So me and Ron get our own rooms soon.”

“That’s very convenient,” Ginny says, flashes him a smile, “given all of the things I hope we get up to.”

“Mm. Would kill the mood to have your brother around,” Harry agrees.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want him worrying about my virtue,” Ginny says, rolling her eyes.

“What about your virtue?” Ron says, tuning into their conversation.

This time it’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “Nothing,” he says. “Let’s get some more food, shall we?”

*

“I think Robards is starting to trust me,” Harry tells her. They’re walking through the main street of Hogsmeade after lunch, just the both of them. His hand is soft and warm around hers, and it makes it easy to ignore the occasional glances passers-by give them. The cons of dating the saviour of the wizarding world and all of that.

“Well, he would be an idiot not to,” Ginny says, shrugging a shoulder. “You are the Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. _ Witch Weekly _’s third most eligible bachelor, as per their latest issue—”

“Alright, alright,” Harry says. His cheeks are tinged with pink, but there’s an amused twinkle in his eyes, glinting behind his slightly fogged-over glasses. “Who’s the second and first most eligible bachelor, then?” he says.

“Oh, that’s your first objection? Not _ oh, no, I’m not a bachelor, I’m dating a very attractive redhead, I shall be writing to the magazine immediately to rectify this error _?” Ginny says, affecting a Lockhart-esque accent.

“Oh, I’m sorry. However dare they do this. Don’t they know my life revolves around whether _ Witch Weekly _knows I’m dating you?” Harry says, deadpan.

“Of course. After all, what would your life be if you weren’t concerned about that sort of thing?” Ginny says, nudging Harry’s side with her elbow.

“Exactly,” Harry agrees.

“I think my brother beat you in eligibility, by the way,” Ginny says.

They’re walking close enough next to each other that she can feel Harry’s shoulder shake next to her, as if he’s holding back laughter. “Which one?” he says.

“George. Ron’s number four.”

“Should I be concerned about how well you know this list?” Harry asks, turning to grin at her.

A small chuckle leaves Ginny. “Oh, shut up. Parvati subscribes to _ Witch Weekly _. She showed me her copy in the dormitory yesterday.” The seventh year girls’ Gryffindor dormitory has been expanded to accommodate both Ginny’s classmates and those girls in Hermione’s year who chose to come back- namely, Hermione herself, and Parvati. “It’s quite an interesting read, actually. I learnt a charm to curl my hair with my wand,” she says.

“Very useful,” Harry agrees, leaning over to tug playfully at a strand of Ginny’s hair. “Speaking of Parvati… How is Lavender doing, anyway? She was quite injured in the battle, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah, she was. Spent the summer at St. Mungo’s. She’s not well enough to come back to Hogwarts, but Parvati says she’s doing better now, though. Needs to use a cane to get about, but I’ve heard she’s very excited about bejewelling the cane, so I think she’s making the most of a bad situation,” Ginny says with a small smile. “You know what’s odd? Her and Hermione are becoming quite good friends. They’re always writing to each other.”

“Really? Even after everything that happened with Ron?” Harry asks, seemingly incredulous.

“Well, I reckon the war’s changed a lot. Do you know Parvati now wants to be a Healer? She spent most of the summer with Lavender at Mungo’s, and now she’s decided she wants to do that full-time. McGonagall seems quite proud of her,” Ginny says with a smile.

“That’s… wow,” Harry says.

“That about sums it up, yeah,” Ginny says.

The war’s changed all of them, she thinks. Somehow, there seem to be more important things than crushes and exes and all of that now. It feels quite odd, being back at school now, not really caring about all of the things that she thought she would care about. The other day, her and Dean spent an hour in the common room, trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle where the corner pieces tended to go invisible at the oddest moments. It was only after she went back to bed that night that she’d remembered that she and Dean had dated during her fifth year. It’s all a blur sometimes. She and Dean are now just two Gryffindors doing their best to pretend it’s a normal school year.

She’s just trying to pretend it’s okay, being the only Weasley at school. She’s used to Ron being there, and before that, George and…

“What’s it like?” Harry asks, as if he can read her mind. Maybe he can. Maybe it’s another Chosen One power. Something to add to the myth of Harry Potter. Maybe that’s what Rita Skeeter will be reporting next. _ The Chosen One: Chosen to Kill Voldemort, Now Chosen to Read Minds? _Something like that. More witty. Or – knowing Rita – less witty, more accusatory.

“Gin?” Harry asks after a moment. His voice is gentler than before, all note of teasing and mirth vanished.

Ginny blinks rapidly a few times. And then again. “It’s just… it’s weird. Sometimes I forget he’s dead.” She only realises she’s said it out loud when she hears Harry’s soft intake of breath next to her. “I’ll be talking to Luna about something, and then I’ll think, _ oh I’ll write to Fred and George about this, they’ll think it’s hilarious _… and then it hits me all at once.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. He’s a soft, warm presence by her side, and she knows he won’t hold any of this against her, won’t think she’s any weaker for admitting it.

“When Sirius died,” he finally says, after a moment of silence, “I only realised just how much I missed him when I realised I didn’t have anyone to write to anymore.”

Ginny forces herself to take a deep breath. “I saw a first year the other day. Gryffindor. She came up to me because I’m Quidditch Captain. Said she was Muggleborn, she’d only learnt about the sport yesterday, and did I think she could try out anyway.”

Harry’s soft laugh is a welcome noise next to her. “What did you tell her?”

“I said she could try out, and she could come speak to me if she didn’t get on the team. No reason she can’t play for fun, right?” Ginny says.

“Course, yeah,” Harry agrees.

“Anyway. It reminded me that all of it… Fred, Lupin and Tonks… all of it was kind of worth it, right? Now Priya Iyer, in first year, doesn’t have to worry about Voldemort, doesn’t have to think too much about all of the people who think she’s lesser than just because of her parents…”

“And Teddy won’t have to think about it. When he goes to Hogwarts,” Harry says, and turns to look at Ginny. She turns as well, meets his bright green eyes. She leans up onto her tiptoes, presses a soft kiss to his lips before she pulls back.

“Yeah. Speaking of which, we should buy him a present. I don’t want him to forget me while I’m here,” she says, and laces her fingers with Harry’s, squeezes his hand. “Zonko’s do some pretty great toys. Besides, George told me to scope out the shop, see if it’s worth Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes buying it over.”

“Yeah, he told me he was still considering it,” Harry says, follows her as she leads the way over to Zonko’s. “Do you think Teddy’s old enough for a toy broomstick?”

“He’s only five months old, isn’t he? Maybe not quite yet. He isn’t even crawling yet,” Ginny says thoughtfully.

“Mm. Maybe for Christmas, then?” suggests Harry.

Ginny thinks about the look on Andromeda’s face if she saw Teddy, not even a year old yet, zooming around on a toy broomstick, just out of Kreacher’s reach. She can’t suppress a grin at the thought. “You know,” she says, “I think it’s an _ excellent _idea.”

Somehow, they find themselves by the Shrieking Shack, after they finish all of their shopping. Ginny hadn’t been aware of them walking here, not exactly, but it’s quiet and nice out here, so it’s as good a place as any.

“When do you have to go back?” he asks her.

She doesn’t have to be back until the evening, and she tells him so. He uses his wand to conjure up a blanket, giving her a proud smile when he manages it on the first try, and spreads it out on the grass.

“Lupin came here. Every month while he was in school,” he says. She settles down on the blanket next to him, takes a sip of the hot chocolate she had bought at the Three Broomsticks just before they walked over.

“I know, yeah,” she says, and hands her drink to Harry. He takes a small sip of it, and she moves her hand to wipe the whipped cream off his lip.

“And Snape… he died here. In that room,” Harry says, pointing it out. “I saw it happen.”

“You... what do you mean? You never mentioned that,” Ginny frowns.

All of this time, all of the things they’ve said to each other, and there’s still things she needs to learn about him. Sometimes, when she’s in an uncharitable mood, she wonders if she’ll ever get the full story.

No, but that isn’t fair. He’s telling her now.

He wraps his arm around her, lets her snuggle into his side as the afternoon disappears into the evening and a cold breeze flutters the ends of her hair. He tells her about Snape, about everything that he learnt about him, everything that he went through. By the time he’s finished, the sun’s about to set. She rests her head on his shoulder, takes his hand, plays with his fingers as he finishes the story.

“And that’s what convinced me to go face Voldemort,” he says. His voice is hoarse from talking. His cheeks shine with tear tracks, and he’s holding onto her hand tightly. She wonders if he’s using her hand to anchor himself to reality. Maybe they both are, right now.

“And that’s when he killed you,” she says. Both of them are speaking quietly, barely loud enough to be heard, softer than the breeze in the air and the grass.

“Yeah.”

She rests her hand on his chest, over the scar she knows exists right over his heart. Another lightning bolt. “But he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Another massive fail for old Voldemort, then,” she says. “The _ Prophet _should rename you. The boy who refuses to die, no matter what.”

“Well,” Harry says, and there’s a wry tone of amusement in his voice. “I have been told that I can be quite stubborn, you know.”

“This feels like a breakthrough moment for you,” says Ginny. They both start to laugh, and it feels like a spell being broken. The weight in her chest finally eases up. She feels almost as if someone’s cast a Patronus or something. Merlin, she really has missed him.

*

They’re walking back towards the Three Broomsticks where she’s meant to be meeting up with Hermione and Luna to go back when it happens.

“It shouldn’t be too long, maybe a week or so,” Harry’s saying. He’s telling her about an upcoming trip away from London and the Ministry, how Robards wants the trainee Aurors to go to test their work in the field, away from their homes.

“Right, yeah—” Ginny says.

Right then, someone walks up to them. A tall, blond, and very conflicted-looking Malfoy.

“Potter,” he says, and then, as if only noticing Ginny, “and Weasley.”

Harry frowns. Ginny doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s schooled his face into his inscrutable Auror look. “What is it, Malfoy?” he says.

Malfoy hadn’t been in school last year. Harry’s filled her in on his experience at Malfoy Manor, how Malfoy had refused to identify him. How his mother had lied about him being alive and not given him away. She knows all about how Harry testified in defence of Draco and his mum during the trials last summer, how it’s because of him that they weren’t sentenced to life sentences in Azkaban and Draco was allowed to come back to school, under strict probation.

That doesn’t mean she trusts him, though. As far as she’s concerned, just because he isn’t on Voldemort’s side doesn’t mean he’s on _ theirs _. If there’s anything her dad has taught her, it’s that Malfoys only play for their own side. Always.

She can feel Harry’s fist clench around his wand next to her. He seems to feel the same way as her.

“I need to talk to you,” Malfoy tells him.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter,” Malfoy snaps. Business as usual, then. “I just need a word.”

“If this is a thank you for him saving your arse last summer, Malfoy, then you’re a bit late, don’t you think?” Ginny can’t resist saying.

Malfoy looks at her, and his eyes narrow, as if he’s about to say something cutting. And then, what’s truly the most confusing thing about this whole _ thing _ happens. He composes himself and doesn’t respond. He looks back at Harry, seems to compose himself. Takes a deep breath, and then says, with what seems like a great effort, “Potter. _ Please _.”

Ginny’s eyes go wide. Next to her, she hears Harry’s sharp inhale of breath. “Okay,” he says, and his voice is slightly softer now. “Alright. You can talk to us. Is it…” he trails off. Ginny suspects he doesn’t know whether to ask Malfoy if he’s alright or not. She feels that way, at any rate; she’s not exactly _ used _to caring about Malfoy’s wellbeing. Not that she does, not exactly, but… something seems off. The fact that he’s being polite is proof enough of that.

“I’d appreciate it if it could be alone, I—” Malfoy cuts himself off at the sound of approaching footsteps. Ron and Hermione are walking towards them, and Ron steps to Harry’s side instantly.

“What is it, Malfoy?” he snaps at him. Hermione looks a bit pale, but slowly steps up to Ron’s other side.

There’s a long moment of silence, that seems suspended in the air. And then, finally, Malfoy speaks.

“Nothing,” he says, and glances at Harry one final time. “Absolutely nothing. I’ll leave you to it.” With a weak approximation of his usual sneer, he walks away.

“That was odd,” Hermione says.

“Well, he’s an odd one, isn’t he? Always has been,” Ron says, but he and Harry exchange a look. Ginny brings her bottom lip into her mouth and nibbles at it. What the hell just happened?

“We should really be going back, Ginny,” Hermione says. “The last thing we need is a detention.”

Ginny exchanges a dark smile with Harry. “Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to be that scared of detention this year,” she says.

“You can never be too sure,” Hermione insists. “I’m Head Girl and you’re Quidditch Captain, we need to set a good example. I’ll see you soon,” she tells Ron. She leans up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and Ginny makes a show of glancing away.

“Bye,” she tells Harry.

“Wait. Hang on a sec,” Harry says, and takes her hand.

She follows him a few steps away to relative privacy. “I got you this,” he tells her, takes out a clumsily wrapped parcel from an inner pocket of his robes.

“What is it?” she says.

“Open it when you get back to Hogwarts, yeah?” Harry says. He leans down and kisses her, soft and slow. “I’ll see you on your next Hogsmeade weekend.”

“What if you’re on your week away with Robards then?” Ginny grumbles.

Harry gives her a grin. “I’ll sneak out,” he promises. She knows he doesn’t mean it, not really, but it makes her feel better just to hear it.

*

She opens it, once she’s back in the Gryffindor dormitory. Everyone else is still downstairs, in the Common Room, and it’s just her here.

It’s a mirror. A little handheld mirror in a slightly rusted silver. She picks it up and looks at herself, a bit confused. She supposes it’s pretty enough, as a present. She can see her face in it. Tired, dark-shadowed, freckled, brown eyes and red hair.

She picks up the small piece of parchment that came with the mirror, and she’s greeted by Harry’s messy handwriting.

_ Gin- _

_ Sirius gifted me a mirror like this in my fifth year. He and my dad used to have a set of two-way mirrors, they used it to talk to each other. All you have to do is tap it with my wand and say my name, and you’ll be able to see me through the mirror I have. And it’s the same for me. Kind of like the DA coins, but we’ll be able to see each other’s face. Kreacher found another set of mirrors in Grimmauld Place and gave them to me last week. I’ve been waiting to give it to you ever since. _

_ I miss you. Can’t wait to see you. If Hermione’s reading this over your shoulder, tell her hi. _

_ Harry. _

_ PS: Maybe consider _ Muffliato _ if you’re using this in the dormitory. Just a thought. _

She read the note once, and then again, and then a third time to be sure. Her heartbeat’s racing, she notes absentmindedly. She can see Harry. She can _ talk _to him. She doesn’t have to rely on Hermione’s letter charm to get letters to him.

She leans over, grabs her wand from where it’s lying next to her by the pillow. She taps the mirror, and then says, “Harry.” Will ‘Harry’ work? It probably won’t, right? Being specific wouldn’t hurt. “Harry Potter,” she says. And then adds: “Harry James Potter.”

“Why are you saying my full name like that?” says a familiar, amused voice.

Ginny looks down at the mirror. Instead of her own face, she sees Harry. Down to the pyjamas he’s wearing and the stubble dotted along his cheek and jaw. She feels suddenly like crying. She spent most of the summer spending every night with Harry. Seeing him like this makes her miss him even more than she usually does.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this before.” She makes herself comfortable, leans against the pillows. “_ Muffliato _,” she adds.

“Oh, are the others around?” Harry asks.

“No, but it never hurts to make sure, does it?”

“Constant vigilance,” Harry says.

The corner of Ginny’s mouth twitches. “Has anyone told you that your Moody impression is alarmingly accurate?”

“Not as good as your Umbridge impression.”

“_ Hem, hem _,” Ginny says, and they both start to laugh.

“So,” she says, once both their laughter has died down, “What are you going to get up to tomorrow?”

They fall into easy conversation; it’s as good a way to end the day as any.

*


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's slightly late, i've been travelling! new chapter next monday, and i hope you like this one :)

“My sister says Harry’s doing well,” is the first thing Parvati Patil says to her when she comes downstairs to the common room.

“Hmm?” Ginny says. She’s sprawled out on her stomach, several pieces of parchment in front of her. Their first game is against Ravenclaw, and it’s in two weeks’ time. Not nearly long enough to train her team to perfection, the way she’d like to. She’s been sketching out different strategies, but she doubts anyone would be able to understand her scrawls and messy notes but her.

“Padma,” Parvati says. “She’s an Auror trainee with Harry and the others, you know.”

“Mm,” Ginny grunts, and pulls another piece of parchment towards her. Does she have time to teach every member how to do a Wronksi Feint? Would that even be effective, though? Surely it would start to get predictable, if everyone had the same defensive manoeuvres…

“Ginny,” Parvati says. She’s starting to sound quite irritated.

Reluctantly, Ginny looks up. “Oh. Hi, Parvati.”

“Hi,” Parvati says, tone short. “I was just saying that Padma says Harry’s doing well.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t he be?” Ginny says.

“I don’t know. I thought you’d be relieved to know, is all,” Parvati says.

Ginny’s starting to be very confused about this whole conversation. “Oh. Er. Thanks, Parvati. That’s good to know, I suppose. How is Padma?” she asks. She should’ve enjoyed the hour of free time she had this morning, should’ve known it wouldn’t last and she’d be pulled back into social niceties and conversations and the world of other people.

“She’s alright,” Parvati says. She delicately pulls a cushion off the sofa and sits down on it before pointing her wand at the fireplace. A fire starts up immediately. It’s quite nice, actually. Ginny hadn’t realised how chilly it was.

Ginny nods. “That’s good,” she says. When Parvati doesn’t say anything else, she looks back down at her parchment, dips her quill in ink and starts to write down another possibility for how to start tomorrow’s practice.

It takes a few moments before Parvati speaks up again. “Can I ask you something?” she says.

Ginny puts her quill down and looks up. “Course,” she nods.

“When Ron went to Hogwarts and you were the only one at home,” Parvati says, and she’s speaking slowly, as if measuring every word, “did you feel lonely?”

Ginny hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh. A bit, yeah. Was just Mum and me at home. No one to play with or anything. I couldn’t wait to get to school.”

Parvati nods, but she doesn’t say anything else. The frown on her face hasn’t faded at all.

Ginny decides to just go for it. Hermione’s much better at the emotional stuff than she is, but that doesn’t mean she can’t give it a go every now and then. “Do you miss Padma, then?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Parvati says, and lets out a sigh. “And Lavender. I wish she was here.”

“Are you going to visit her at Mungo’s over the Christmas holidays?” Ginny asks.

Parvati nods. “Of course. And I’ve been meeting with Professor Trelawney to keep her star chart up to date, so I can show her.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ginny says. “Hermione mentioned you were… fond of astrology, and all of that.” Hermione had put it far less kindly, but Ginny doesn't think that needed mentioning at the moment.

“Yeah. Lavender and I used to make our charts and do our predictions every week,” Parvati says. “And we got Padma into it, too.”

Ginny thinks about it. She can recognise the look in Parvati’s eyes. It’s probably quite lonely, being here after a war without her best friend or her sister. She’s suddenly reminded of her second year, when she didn’t feel like she had anybody to talk to.

Before she even realises it, she’s talking. “Do you want to write a column for our magazine?”

“What?” Parvati says. It’s her turn to look confused.

“Luna and I are putting together a student edition of the _Quibbler_. I’m doing a Quidditch column. Hermione says she wants to write about spellwork and Transfiguration. You could do an astrology column,” Ginny suggests. “It’s all above-board, unlike the DA. We meet every week. It’ll be fun.”

“And you and Loony Lovegood are doing this?” Parvati says.

Ginny glares. She’s starting to regret her decision. “She’s one of my best friends,” she says coldly.

Parvati hesitates. She looks genuinely remorseful, which is the only reason Ginny softens. “I… you know what? Yes. I’d love to. And… I’m sorry, about Luna. Calling her that, I mean.”

Ginny looks at Parvati for a long second and then nods. “Okay,” she says, very much hoping that Parvati means it. They’re just starting to be friends now, it would be quite a shame if she had to punch her.

*

Later that day, Hermione coaxes Ginny out for a walk. “Let’s go for a stroll,” she says cheerfully. She’s holding what seems fifty books and seventy scrolls of parchment. Her bushy hair’s pulled up into a messy bun, and she’s stuck a quill through it to keep it in place.

“I’m working, though,” Ginny protests. She thinks she’s found the perfect training strategy, and now she’s working on the first draft for an article for Luna’s magazine, about her predictions for next year’s World Cup.

“We can work outside,” Hermione says, like it’s obvious. “I have to finish this essay, anyway, but I just thought some fresh air would be nice.”

Ginny considers, and then nods. “Okay.” She stands up, putting her scrolls of parchment in her bag and lifting it up. “Let’s go.”

Hermione’s right: it is quite a nice day today. It’s quite nippy, but the sun’s out and Ginny can feel it on her skin.

They settle down by a large tree near the lake. Ginny remembers sitting here with Hermione, and Ron and Harry, during her OWL revision, when Harry would kiss her on her study breaks, where she’d get distracted watching the sun play across Harry’s dark skin, making his green eyes look even brighter.

Hermione gets out her books and lays them out in front of her, and Ginny watches, fascinated despite herself at the intricate ritual it seems to be. “Did you ever think we’d be here?” she says suddenly. “Back at Hogwarts. As if nothing’s happened?”

Hermione doesn’t answer for a moment. “I don’t know,” she says. “I… there were times, last year, where I thought we would be lucky if we survived at all.”

“I know what you mean,” Ginny agrees. “It seemed kind of useless, right? To think about life afterwards?”

Hermione nods. She tugs the quill out of her hair, and it comes tumbling down around her shoulders. “We’ve got meetings with Professor McGonagall next week,” she says. “Do you know what you’re going to tell her?”

All the seventh years, whether new or returning, are meeting their Head of House over the course of the next week to talk about their future. Ginny knows exactly what she wants to do, but she feels singularly unprepared for the meeting.

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “I kind of know what I want to do. After this. But I don’t think you or Mum or McGonagall is going to be on my side…”

Hermione furrows her eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I want to play Quidditch,” Ginny says, and sighs. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. The only things I’ve ever liked doing, growing up, is playing and writing in my journal. And the second one didn’t work out so well for me, did it?” she chuckles, but her laughter fades when she sees the worried expression on Hermione’s face.

“But… Ginny, to play Quidditch professionally… it’s not a very _secure _career option, is it?” Hermione says. She seems to be choosing her words carefully.

Ginny bristles. “What are you going to do, then?” she says.

“I’d like to work at the Ministry,” says Hermione promptly. “In the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, if they’ll have me. I’ve done the homework—”

“Of course you have,” Ginny mutters.

“—and I’ve got the necessary qualifications. All of the NEWTs and everything. I think it’s important to affect change from the inside, you know? It’s like I told Andromeda, you have to be _part _of the change, especially now, when we’re effectively rebuilding our society…”

Ginny can’t even be annoyed when Hermione’s being as earnest as she is right now. “I know,” she says. “I think you’ll be brilliant at it, Hermione. Especially with all of the SPEW stuff. You’ll fit right in.”

“Thank you,” Hermione says with a shy smile. “I hope so. You know, it was because of their policies that Lupin found it so hard to get a job. I’d definitely like to help destigmatise that, make it easier for werewolves. Of course, Wolfsbane Potion would have to be mass-produced, and the cost would have to be subsidised by the Ministry, to make it easier on them…”

Ginny listens carefully to Hermione. Despite herself, she’s fascinated by how many plans Hermione’s already made.

“You’re gonna be really good at it,” she tells Hermione, and she means it. “Really.”

Hermione’s cheeks flush, and she busies herself with taking out yet another book from her bag. “Let’s hope McGonagall agrees with you,” is all she says.

*

Ginny’s walking back to the common room after practice when she’s stopped. Or, more accurately, she’s tapped on the shoulder.

She turns around, and is greeted with the uncomfortable-looking face of Draco Malfoy.

“What?” she says, genuinely confused. Must she spend all of her life around Malfoy? It’s certainly starting to seem that way.

Malfoy clears his throat. Stands up a little straighter. “Weasley,” he says.

“Malfoy,” she returns.

“I was hoping you could tell me how I could reach Potter.” His voice is clipped, but there’s a bead of sweat on his forehead.

“Is this about whatever you wanted to talk to him about at Hogsmeade?” she asks. She’s sore in more places than she knew possible, and the _last _thing she needs is Malfoy. She thinks longingly of her four-poster bed in Gryffindor tower.

“Well. Yes. Partially,” says Malfoy. Ginny merely raises an eyebrow; she has absolutely no time to deal with his cryptic Slytherin bullshit. “I… I wished to apologise.”

Ginny thinks for a second that she’s hallucinating. “What?” she says blankly.

“To him. My… my mother believes that it’s because of him that the both of us aren’t in Azkaban,” he says. It seems like the words are being wrenched out of him unwillingly.

This is completely surreal. None of this is really happening. Of all the things Ginny pictured in her day, being spoken to by _Malfoy_, without him sneering or sending a few slurs her way, is not one of them. She draws herself up to her full height, takes a deep breath. “Your _mother _is correct,” she tells him coldly. “I’m pretty sure you owe more people an apology than just Harry,” she can’t resist adding.

Malfoy’s eyes flash, but he doesn’t respond to her provocation. “How do I reach him?” he asks.

Ginny thinks about it for a second. “Write to him. Auror Headquarters, Ministry of Magic. And try to prevent all your Slytherin friends from torturing me or my friends. That’d be good, too.”

“They’re not my friends,” Malfoy says, very quietly.

“Not until you need something from them next, they’re not,” Ginny says. “Good talk, Malfoy.” She turns back around, flips her long hair over her shoulder, and walks away, back towards the safety of the tower.

*

“He really wanted to apologise?” Harry says, through the mirror.

Ginny nods. She props the mirror up against a pillow and gathers her hair in her hands, starting to braid it absentmindedly. “Yeah. Wanted to know how to reach you.”

“What did you say?” Harry asks.

“Told him to write you at work. You probably wouldn’t appreciate being annoyed at home, would you?” Ginny says.

“I love you,” Harry says, sounding relieved.

“I know,” Ginny says, and blows a kiss to Harry. “How’s work going, anyway?”

“It’s alright,” says Harry. Honestly, knowing Harry, ‘alright’ could mean _incredible _or _absolutely awful _or anything in between.

“Yeah?” she says.

“I took Teddy to work yesterday,” he reports with a grin. “Andromeda got called into a sudden meeting at the Ministry, so she brought Teddy with her and dropped him off in the office with me and Ron.”

“What, really? Oh, I’m so jealous I missed that,” Ginny says. Her eyes go soft thinking of tiny Teddy, causing all manner of hell in the office. Merlin, she wishes she could’ve seen it.

“He slobbered all over Robards’ paperwork,” Harry says. “And Robards couldn’t even say anything about it.”

“Why not?” asks Ginny.

“Because as soon as he came up to Teddy, Teddy decided to change his hair colour to look just like Robards’.”

“He’s a very smart baby,” Ginny says approvingly.

“The smartest,” agrees Harry. “How are things over there?”

“We’ve got the first match of the season coming up,” Ginny says. “I’m really nervous. The Beaters we’ve got aren’t half as good as Fred and George.”

“It’d be impossible to be as good as them,” Harry says.

“And our Seeker… I have hope for her. But… I don’t know. She’s never been on the team before, I hope the pressure doesn’t get to her. I’d feel like a proper prat if we lose.” It’s all coming tumbling out of her now. “And we’ve got those career appointments with McGonagall coming up after the match, and I have no idea what to tell her. Can hardly tell her I want to play professionally if I can’t even win a match, right?”

Harry frowns. “Even if you lose, Gin, you’ll be brilliant doing it. And you’re smart, and talented. McGonagall knows that. She wouldn’t have made you Quidditch Captain if she thought you weren’t good”

“You’re just flattering me, Potter,” she says, but she feels oddly better.

“I mean it,” Harry says, and then, “When is it?”

“On Saturday. And the appointment with McGonagall is on the Monday after. So a little over a week away,” Ginny says with a sigh.

Harry thinks about it for a moment. “Ron and I can come to see you play, if you want,” he offers. “We’re not working next Saturday. And McGonagall will let us, I’m sure.”

Ginny raises her eyebrow. “The Chosen One, taking advantage of his status by getting special treatment to attend a school Quidditch match?”

“Whatever would Rita Skeeter say?” Harry says dryly.

Ginny grins. “Yeah,” she says, and only then realises it doesn’t make sense. “I mean… yeah. I want you to come. If you can.” She feels better at the idea that Harry will be there. Not that she thinks anything will go wrong, but it’ll be easier to stay calm if she pictures celebrating her win with him afterwards.

“Then I’ll be there,” Harry promises. 

“Good. Okay. Thank you,” Ginny says.

Harry looks at her for a moment. “I remember what you said. About last year. That the Dementors took over the Quidditch Pitch.”

Ginny does her best to look unaffected. “Yeah. They did.”

Harry’s frown deepens.

“It’ll be fine. Really. The Dementors are long gone. And I know how to use a Patronus, so.” Ginny shrugs.

Harry looks concerned, but all he says is, “Well, let’s hope you won’t have to use it.”

Ginny nods. She very much hopes so.


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy! new chapter next monday. :) tumblr is lazyweekendmornings if you wanna chat about the fic!

In her dream, she’s flying. Not on a broomstick, not exactly. She knows she’s on a broomstick, but there’s no reassuring handle to hold on to, no sound of the wind among the bristles of the broom. She’s there. Flying on a broomstick without a broomstick, nothing to keep her safe.

It’s dark outside. She doesn’t know where she is. She doesn’t know how she got here. She’s surrounded by blackness all around, an unnatural sort of dark.

“Did you really think,” says a voice, booming the way Voldemort’s had during the Battle, “that you could escape me so easily, little girl?”

“No—no. You’re in Azkaban,” Ginny says. She thinks she says it, anyway. It’s very hard to know what she’s saying out loud. She reaches out for something, something to anchor her to reality.

“Am I? I didn’t go anywhere, you filthy blood traitor…”

The voice grows louder. Magnified with every word.

“You are…” Ginny says, unsure.

It grows cold suddenly. She shoves her hand up the sleeve of her robes, retrieves her wand from the holster attached to her wand. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real. It’s not her. It’s a Dementor. It has to be. Dementors on the Quidditch pitch. Not the first time it happened.

“_Expecto_ _Patronum_!”

Instead of a shimmering white Patronus, what emerges from her wand is none other than Alecto Carrow.

“No—no!”

Alecto lunges towards her, gets her hands around her neck, somehow growing larger and more all-encompassing with every second.

“I’m going to teach you what happens in  _ my  _ school,” she snarls.

Ginny tries to twist away, but Alecto’s hands get tighter around her, and she can’t breathe,  _ she can’t breathe… _

She awakes with a start. Her breaths are leaving her in short little pants, and she can feel her heart thumping, so loudly and so rapidly that it feels as if it’s in her throat.

She grabs her wand from beneath her pillow, sits up and runs her shaking hand through her hair. It’s all sweaty, the way it usually is after dreams like that,

“ _ Lumos _ .”

Light floods the dormitory. Luckily, the others sleep through it. Which is good. She can’t handle speaking to Hermione or Parvati or any of them right now.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay. You’re okay,” she murmurs to herself, keeps the chant up even as she stands up. “ _ Accio _ .” A set of robes come flying from her open trunk and land in her arms, along with some socks. She gets dressed as quickly as she can and walks downstairs, to the Common Room. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but she can’t fathom the thought of going back to sleep.

Besides, it’s the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor against Ravenclaw. They can do this. She can do this. She just needs to pull herself together. It’s only a nightmare.

Besides, she’s lived through worse.

*

“And Gryffindor wins!” Luna’s serene voice announces. “Three hundred and ten points to two hundred and twenty. Read the next issue of the  _ Hogwarts Quibbler  _ if you’d like to read the highlights, I haven’t read the full issue yet but I’m sure it’ll be delightful…”

The wind whistles in Ginny’s ears as she touches back down onto the ground. She dismounts her broom, staggering a little on her feet. They did it. First match of the season, first match she ever played as captain, and they won.

“That was incredible, Ginny!” Seamus yells as he touches down next to her. He tugs her into a hug, and is soon joined by the other members of the team.

“Don’t—don’t get too cocky. Still got loads to do,” Ginny says, but her eyes feel bright and there’s a warmth spreading through her body, down her spine, into the very tips of her feet. They’ve  _ won _ . She was so worried…

She looks up at the crowds. They all blur into each other. Excited, yelling faces. Except…

She spots Harry and Ron, next to McGonagall and Hermione. They meet eyes, and even from the distance, she can see the unbelievably proud look on Harry’s face. Ron’s yelling, next to him, and he and Harry have their arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Let’s go,” someone says in her ear. Dean, probably. Or Seamus. One of the Chasers, at any rate.

She feels a buzzing in her ear as she goes to the changing room. She knows she gives her team a pep talk, tells them how proud she is and how well they flew, points out room for improvement for next time, but she isn’t sure what she says. It’s the same in the shower, as well: she knows she gets clean, scrubs the mud off her, but if anyone asked her if she washed her arms or legs first, she’d have honestly no idea.

Harry’s waiting for her when she leaves the changing room. She isn’t expecting it, but there he is. In a set of green robes. A shade of green that’s an exact match to his shining eyes.

“I’m here to congratulate Captain Weasley,” he says, and Ginny feels like her entire body lights up in joy, even though that’s not really possible.

Before she can respond, Dean and Seamus step out. “Oh. Hey, Harry,” Dean says, delighted, and he and Seamus go to greet him.

“Great game, you two,” Harry says with a grin.

“Wasn’t as great as Luna’s commentary,” Seamus says.

“No, but I don’t think most things could be, really,” says Ginny.

“Oh, for sure. She’s great, isn’t she?” Dean says with a fond smile. “Will you come to the common room for the celebration, Harry?” he adds.

“I’m sure he and Gin will want some…  _ alone time _ ,” Seamus says, waggling his eyebrows.

Ginny flips him off, but he ignores it.

“We’ll see you both later, then,” Dean says, shaking his head. He and Seamus leave, but Ginny doesn’t make any move to follow them.

“So,” she tells Harry.

He gives her a bright smile. “That was a brilliant game, honestly. When you got that third goal…”

“I was so sure I’d fall to the ground,” says Ginny ruefully.

“But you didn’t, it was incredible. And that fakeout with the Ravenclaw Beaters, where you swerved at the last minute so the Bludgers hit each other instead of you…”

Ginny looks up at Harry as he gushes. She can feel the fondness running through her, and she feels lighter on her feet than she has in ages. Without thinking about it, she goes onto her tiptoes and kisses Harry, effectively interrupting his enthusiastic retelling of her sixth goal.

He responds immediately, pulling her closer with such intensity that she might have laughed at him if she wasn’t… otherwise occupied.

She pulls back after a moment, or possible five minutes, maybe a month or so, and looks up at him and takes him in. She talks to him every night, she saw him at Hogsmeade the other day, but she feels almost panicked about it now. He’s going back home tonight. They won’t sleep in the same bed or wake each other up tomorrow morning or kiss until their lips are sore and laugh quietly in the dead of the night…

She doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she says, “You’ve shaved.”

“Oh. Yeah. Robards reckon I look more professional this way,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“Mm. I kind of miss the beard,” she says, cupping Harry’s cheek. It’s surprisingly smooth under her hand. Unfamiliar terrain.

“I’ll grow it back, then,” he says immediately, and he laughs.

“Ginny!”

She turns around at the sound of the voice, and Ron comes up to her, grinning widely. Hermione’s following him, looking slightly breathless.

“Ron, they probably want a moment alone—” she pants.

“I gave you a five minute head start, mate, that was the deal,” Ron tells Harry, before he’s pulling Ginny into a hug. “You were great! You should’ve seen McGonagall, she was beside herself—”

“Really?” Ginny says, grinning despite herself.

“Oh, yeah. She told Flitwick she thinks Gryffindor’ll get the Cup this year. Don’t think we were meant to listen to that bit,” Harry says.

“You were really good, Ginny,” Hermione says. She, and possibly only she, knows how worried Ginny’s been about this. Ginny lets go of Ron, hugs Hermione tightly, and lets her brother, boyfriend, and best friend walk her back to the castle, laughing all the way.

*

“Have a seat, Miss Weasley,” says McGonagall. She’s sitting behind her desk, hands folded down on top of an unfurled scroll of parchment.

Ginny sits down. She takes a deep breath, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, more so she’ll have something to do with her hand than anything else, really.

McGonagall clears her throat. “So. Miss Weasley. Have you given any thought to your future? Ideally, you would have been thinking about it since your OWLs.”

Ginny hasn’t slept well all week. When she’s tired, she loses any filters she might have. And it’s that reason, and that reason alone, that has her answering as honestly as she does.

“Honestly, Professor, I’ve only been thinking about it the last few months. I spent most of last year convinced I wouldn’t have a future.”

McGonagall looks at her through her glasses. Her frown eases up, and she pushes the tin of biscuits on her desk towards Ginny. Without another word, Ginny takes them.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

“Miss Weasley,” McGonagall says. “You have had… a very tough year. We all have. But you…” If she didn’t know better, Ginny would think McGonagall was about to cry. “We must move forwards,” she finally says. “I, too, have experienced loss. And fear. But one… one moves on, Ginny.” Ginny’s eyes go wide when she realises McGonagall’s use of her full name.

“Yeah. I guess,” Ginny says. “I… Hermione thinks I haven’t planned my future well at all.”

“Oh?” McGonagall says.

“I want to play Quidditch,” Ginny blurts out. Her cheeks warm up, but she keeps going. “I want to play Quidditch, Professor, and I know every witch and wizard says that but I really do want to. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And… and I’m willing to work hard. And do whatever it takes, but… I can’t settle. Not without giving it a go first. It doesn’t seem fair, to not even  _ try _ . And I know what Hermione, and my mum, and maybe even my dad, and definitely Percy… I know what they all think. That I’m not being realistic. But… well, life can be short, and I want to try.” She’s out of breath by the time she finishes speaking. She takes a small bite of the biscuit she took out of McGonagall’s jar. She feels a bit light-headed.

When she ventures a glance up at McGonagall, she’s surprised to see that she’s smiling, with no attempt to even hide it.

“Ginny,” McGonagall says, more gently than Ginny’s ever heard it before, “I do not doubt your commitment to the game.”

“You don’t?” Ginny says.

“Of course not. I had no doubt in my mind that this would be a career option that would seem amenable to you.” McGonagall suddenly gets a look in her eye, as if she’s thinking about something very far away. “There was a time when I was very keen to play professionally. Unfortunately, an injury during my final year prevented that, but rest assured that I do not take lightly your ambition.”

“So… you think I can do it?” Ginny asks. This, all of this, seems too good to be true.

McGonagall nods briskly. “Indeed. Towards the end of the Quidditch Season, we are visited by some scouts from various teams. The Holyhead Harpies, the Tutstill Tornadoes, Puddlemere United. Is there any team in specific you lean towards?”

“The Harpies,” says Ginny immediately. She’s been supporting them for over ten years now. An all-female team that’s made it to the top of the team several times… in her (objective) opinion, they’re the absolute best.

“I see. Well, I shall put in a word with Gwenog,” McGonagall says, and gives Ginny a smile. “Their official tryouts are next year. During the Easter holidays. But it will be good if she sees you playing before that.”

She hands Ginny a stack of pamphlets, and Ginny takes them carefully.

“Thank you,” Ginny says. “So much. Professor… how come you’re not telling me to do something more realistic?”

McGonagall gives Ginny a surprisingly gentle smile. “Miss Weasley. After your first year, and what you endured last year, and what you proved capable of… I have learned not to doubt you.”

*

Hermione throws her book onto the floor. The dull thump echoes, and it gets Ginny’s attention immediately.

She looks up, raising her eyebrows at Hermione. Hermione’s sitting on a cushion on the floor of the common room, by the fireplace. She hasn’t spoken for the last half an hour, has been frowning down at her Transfiguration essay, and Ginny knows better to interrupt her when she’s like this. She’s been poring over her Charms textbook, amusing herself by making her quill levitate and do a little jig as she reads. At the sound of Hermione’s book, though, Ginny lowers her wand, and the quill floats sadly to the ground.

“What is it?” she asks Hermione.

Hermione sighs. It’s not her familiar  _ I am stressed about academia  _ sigh. It’s heavier, and it gets Ginny concerned immediately.

“Nothing,” Hermione says, which is even more worrying. “I just… it’s stupid.”

“Tell me anyway,” Ginny suggests. “We can’t fix it until you tell me, can we?”

It’s a gloomy November evening, and rain’s been lashing against the windows all day. Ginny thinks it’s the right weather for a heart-to-heart, all things considered.

“I suppose I just… I miss Ron,” Hermione finally says in a small voice. “I  _ know  _ it’s silly, but I had almost gotten used to him teasing me while I revised.”

Ginny’s suddenly reminded of an afternoon in her fourth year, where she’d shared Harry’s Easter chocolate with him, and he’d told her about missing Sirius.

“I don’t think it’s silly to miss him. He is your boyfriend, and all that,” Ginny points out. Hermione’s cheeks flush a little at the word  _ boyfriend _ , the way they always do. “Besides,” Ginny adds, “you more or less spent all of last year with him, didn’t you?”

Hermione seems to hesitate for the smallest second but then says, “Yes, I did,” before Ginny can ask about it.

“Right. Exactly,” Ginny says. “Look, why don’t you just talk to him?”

“I have been,” Hermione says. “I mean, not  _ talking _ , but we write each other letters, and I’ll see him during out next Hogsmeade weekend…”

Ginny looks at Hermione for a second. Takes in the dark circles under her eyes, the slightly resigned, pinched expression on her face. “There may be another way,” she says, very slowly.

Hermione widens her eyes. “If you’re suggesting the Floo, then I’ve already thought about it, but—”

“Not the Floo,” Ginny promises. “Something else.”

“What is it?” Hermione asks. She’s starting to look hopeful.

“Leave it to me,” Ginny says.

*

“Harry Potter.”

“You know,” Harry says after a brief pause, smiling amusedly at her through the mirror, “you don’t have to say my full name every time.”

Ginny disregards this. “Is Ron around?”

Harry looks a bit confused, but he nods. “No, he’s down at the shop with George. Why?”

“Hermione’s missing him. So I thought we’d let them use the mirrors for a bit,” Ginny says with a little shrug.

Harry’s lips twitch in a smirk. “Hopefully they won’t use it  _ exactly  _ like we did…”

Ginny chuckles. “Well. Let’s hope not. I’d never be able to look at the mirror the same way again.”

Harry laughs with her. “I’ll get him, once he’s back from the shop. He and Hermione can talk.”

“Good,” Ginny says. “She’ll probably want to talk to you, as well. In fact, I’m definitely about to be told off for not telling her about the mirrors all this time.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Harry asks.

Ginny thinks about it. Shrugs. “Don’t know,” she says. She doesn’t know how to articulate that it felt special, something that just she and Harry shared, a little channel of communication that was just  _ theirs _ , that belonged to absolutely no one else. She doesn’t know how to explain it.

She thinks maybe Harry understands. “I didn’t tell Ron, either,” he says. “You don’t have to explain.”

Ginny’s heard Hermione call Harry and Ron  _ insensitive  _ and  _ out of touch with their feelings  _ more times than she can remember – although, come to think of it, maybe it’s just Ron she rants about – but she thinks sometimes that Harry’s more in touch with her feelings than she is herself. She wonders if that’s normal, wonders when she’ll feel fully herself again.

She clears her throat. She doesn’t mean to say what she does, but it just slips out anyway. “I wish you were here.”

Harry’s eyes go soft as he looks at her. “Just a few more weeks till the Christmas holidays,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, but—” Ginny pauses. Sits up, narrows her eyes at Harry. “The Christmas holidays? I thought we were meeting at Hogsmeade before that.”

Harry looks sheepish.

Ginny groans. “Don’t tell me. Top-secret Auror mission?”

“Nothing secret about it,” Harry says. “Proudfoot fucked up some paperwork, so Neville and I have been assigned to spend the next week re-interviewing all the suspects in his cases.”

“You know,” says Ginny, “sometimes I think Proudfoot personally hates me.”

“Makes two of us,” says Harry dryly. 

“Just a few more weeks till Christmas, then,” Ginny says. She can get through it. She’ll have to.

*


	4. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're enjoying this so far! as always, new chapter next monday. hope you like this one :)

It feels like ages, but Christmas does finally come. Within the first week of December, Hogwarts is covered in festive decorations, tinsel and glittering fairies and wreaths and mistletoe and twelve Christmas trees in the Entrance Hall as always.

It’s the last day of term, and she’s walking back to the Gryffindor common room after her last lesson for the day. It was Transfiguration, and McGonagall had requested her to stay back after class. When she had, McGonagall had leaned over her desk and looked at her for a long moment behind her square spectacles before speaking.

“Miss Weasley,” she said, “I have been informed that next Quidditch match is in February, just a few weeks after you return to term. And the match is to be attended by a few talent scouts from various teams. Nothing official, of course, as the tryouts are only held in April, but it wouldn’t hurt to put in a little extra practice.” She gave Ginny the sort of smile that Ginny did not associate with her at all.

“Thanks, Professor,” Ginny said with a bright smile.

“Happy Christmas, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall said, and gave her another smile before Ginny left.

She thinks about that conversation now as she walks to the common room, humming  _ A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love  _ to herself and brainstorming different strategies for the first match of the term next year. It’s going to be an important one, after all.

She’s too preoccupied to notice that she’s bumping into someone until it happens. “What—” she splutters and then looks up. Her good mood abruptly, rapidly, recedes.

Draco Malfoy stands in front of her, looking confused and unsure. To make things even worse, his face is lacking his characteristic sneer. What even is Draco Malfoy is he isn’t sneering? Ginny doesn’t know.

“What,” she says again.

Malfoy doesn’t say anything. She arches her eyebrows at him and then shakes her head. This definitely isn’t worth ruining her mood over. She’s just about to start walking again when he says, “Weasley, wait.”

She looks back up at him. Waits.

“I, uh.” Malfoy looks very uncomfortable. It’s an odd look on his pale, pointed, annoying face. “Happy…” he trails off.

“For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy. Just say Happy Christmas and move on,” Ginny says. At this point, she’s as bemused as she is annoyed. She thinks being annoyed around Malfoy will always be her default. It’s not like it’s ever particularly difficult, in her defence. It’s far more difficult not to be annoyed than to be annoyed.

“Happy Christmas,” Malfoy finally says. He seems to be in physical pain from saying it. Ginny can relate it; hearing it was hard enough.

She recognises the words for what they are, though: Malfoy’s twisted, awkward way of attempting to make peace. It’s a post-war world and all of that.

“Ginny?” a voice says, before she can answer. A familiar, concerned sounding voice.

She half-turns to see Hermione striding up the corridor towards her. Her jaw is set and she’s walking with more purpose than usual; Malfoy’s effect, probably. Without thinking about it, Ginny slips her hand into Hermione’s and gives it a light squeeze. She knows what Hermione went through at the Malfoys’ and, awkward peace overtures aside, she doesn’t trust Malfoy as far as she can throw him.

“I was just going to the common room,” she tells Hermione.

Hermione nods, slowly. Then she looks at Malfoy, who – to Ginny’s surprise – steps out of the way. “Happy Christmas, Granger,” he mutters. And then, before any of them can say anything, he’s walking down the corridor, away from them.

“What were you talking to him about?” Hermione says. Distrustful.

Ginny links her arm through Hermione’s, and they start walking towards the common room. “He wanted to wish me happy holidays,” she says.

“What?” Hermione says, but all Ginny can do is shrug. She doesn’t have much of an explanation, either.

*

She, Hermione, Luna, and Parvati all sit together on the train back home, but she stays quiet for most of the journey. Which isn’t very characteristic for her, but she feels overwhelmed in a way she can’t explain.

She’s done it. She’s gotten through a term at Hogwarts. No Death Eaters. No Carrows. No Snape. She thought it would be harder than it was, honestly. She’s seen the careful way McGonagall and Flitwick and even Sprout look at her sometimes, when they think she’s not noticing.

The Carrow trial was open to the press. It was written about in the  _ Daily Prophet _ . Probably in  _ Witch Weekly  _ and a thousand other publications, too. It’s the worst from first-years, from young wizards and witches who don’t know what it was like last year, who don’t know what everything she and Luna and Neville and the rest of Dumbledore’s army did was just survival. There was no bravery, no choice. And she wasn’t even really there towards the end of it, was hiding at Aunt Muriel’s with the rest of her family.

Going home has her feeling tired. Bone-tired, the kind of tired where she doesn’t want to move or talk or think. She hadn’t realised how tired she is, how tiring it’s been to keep powering through and put a brave face on it all the time.

So she curls up on her seat, rests her head against the fogged-up window, closes her eyes, and drifts in and out of sleep as she listens to her friends talk around her.

Hermione wakes her when they’re nearly at King’s Cross. “You should change, we’re almost here,” she says, not unkindly. Ginny nods, wipes some drool from the corner of her mouth, and gets up to change into Muggle clothes, old jeans and a Weasley jumper that she thinks used to belong to Bill.

“Are you doing alright?” she asks Hermione before they get off the train. Luna and Parvati have already left the compartment, and she and Hermione are gathering together their trunks, so they have a minute alone, just the both of them. Caught up though she is in her odd melancholic mood, she’s worried about Hermione, who’s coming back to the Burrow with her since her parents are still in Australia.

Hermione takes a second to consider, and when she speaks, her words are slow, measured. “I’m looking forward to spending some time with Ron and all of you. And Harry, of course,” she says. “But… I really thought they would be back by now. I’m starting to think they might  _ never  _ want to come back to England.”

Impulsively, Ginny leans forward and gives her friend a hug. “I’m sorry,” she says, pats Hermione’s back before pulling back.

Hermione gives her a teary smile. “It’s alright. Let’s just try to enjoy the holiday now, shall we?”

Ginny nods, and follows Hermione off the train.

Before she can process the crowds around her or look for familiar faces in the crowd, she’s being pulled into a tight hug. She pulls back, and meets George’s grinning face. “Hey, sis,” he says. “Had a good term? Blow up anything? You have a reputation to live up to, you know.”

Ginny’s laugh sounds watery to her own ears. “I gave it a go. Still haven’t managed to send you a toilet seat, have I?”

George rests his hand over his heart. “And here I was, wondering if you’d sent Harry the customary toilet seat instead of me.”

“Yeah, that’d be dead romantic,” says a voice next to George, and Ginny turns to look at Harry, who’s grinning at her over Hermione’s head.

“I’m saving it for Valentine’s Day,” she tells him.

“You should send it to the Auror Office. I’d love for Robards to see me open a toilet seat,” Harry says.

“It’d be gift wrapped, of course,” Ginny says.

Ron, who’s standing next to Harry, smirks at her and says, “With a customised poem, right?”

“Oh, who can ever forget,” George says, affecting a swoon. “ _ Eyes as green as a fresh-pickled toad _ …”

Ginny can feel her cheeks warm up, but all she does is flip off her brothers. She genuinely, honestly, hates them.

Harry lets go of Hermione and then tells Ginny in a whisper, so only she can hear, “For what it’s worth, it was a nice poem.”

“No, it really wasn’t, you filthy liar. And we aren’t ever discussing it,” Ginny says, and leans up to kiss him in greeting. It only lasts a few seconds, because she can feel everyone around her stare at them. It probably doesn’t help that next to her, Ron and Hermione are staging their own greeting, one that’s far more passionate than hers and Harry’s.

“ _ Teenagers _ ,” George says, rolling his eyes. 

“Hi, George,” Hermione says with a sheepish smile. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s looking far happier than she had a few moments ago.

“Hello, Hermione,” George says, and throws his arms around Ginny and Hermione’s shoulders. “Come on, then. We’ve got enough time to stop at the Leaky Cauldron for a bit of liquid courage before going back home to face all the Weasleys at once.”

Ginny thinks of Bill and Charlie and Percy, all of whom are home for Christmas. Not to mention Fleur. “Yeah, a drink would be good,” she agrees.

*

“Wait. Wait. You’re telling me you’re going out with Angelina Johnson?” Ginny asks. She’s not drunk, not really, but she’s had a gin and tonic and then another and she feels loose, pleasantly relaxed.

“No, of course not,” George says, but he busies himself with his vodka and Gillywater, stirring it even though it really doesn’t need it.

“Bullshit,” Ron says. His cheeks are flushed and he’s on his third Firewhiskey. “She’s at the flat all the time.”

“I’m allowed to have friends,” George says.

“Yeah, you seem quite friendly,” Harry says. He, like Ginny, has grown more loose-limbed and relaxed, and he has his arm around her waist, keeping her close to him all the time. She quite likes it.

“It’s important to have friends with shared experiences,” Hermione says seriously.

“ _ Thank  _ you, Hermione,” George says.

Hermione’s mouth twitches and then she adds, “Some of those shared experiences can be snogging, though.”

Ginny gapes. This is maybe the first time she’s seen Hermione mock George, and she feels oddly proud. It’s something of a rite of passage in their family, taking the piss out of each other.

George seems to echo her sentiments, if the smile he gives Hermione is any indication. “Ronald, you’ve corrupted our Hermione Granger. Really, is this Head Girl behaviour?” he says.

Ginny turns to muffle her giggles against Harry’s shoulder. She can hear Ron respond to George, and Hermione’s laughter, but she isn’t focusing on any of it. She isn’t focusing on anything at all, actually. She feels warm and happy, and she’s back with her family. Things are good.

*

“Malfoy says happy Christmas,” Ginny tells Harry as she climbs into bed with him. By mutual, unspoken, agreement, Hermione’s snuck her way up to Ron’s bedroom, and Harry has joined her in her own.

“You know, I feel like we’re spending far too much time talking about Malfoy these days,” Harry says thoughtfully. He’s wearing his pyjama bottoms and not much else, and she traces the scar on his chest with the very tip of her finger as she thinks about it.

“I never thought it’d come to this,” she says, after a pause. “Exchanging pleasantries with Malfoy. Acting like the war never happened.”

“His dad’s in Azkaban, he probably remembers the war very well,” Harry mutters.

Ginny thinks of the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face at Diagon Alley, the way he slipped Riddle’s journal in with her things. “Good,” she says.

“Robards is holding evaluation meetings with the team after New Year,” Harry says. “Me and Ron and Neville and Padma and the others. Going to assess us on our progress.”

“Killing the Dark Lord would probably put you in the lead, right?” Ginny says.

Harry grins. “He killed himself, for the record,” he says, and Ginny rolls her eyes. She thinks she’s going to hear that for the rest of her life, honestly.

“If everything goes well, and we do everything we’re meant to, we’ll take the NEWTs at the end of the year,” he tells her. “We’ll have to come back to Hogwarts for it.”

“So what you’re saying is that we’ll be revising for NEWTs together?” Ginny says.

“Well,” Harry says, and then pauses. He takes a minute to formulate his thoughts, and then says, “I’ll be taking the NEWTs. You’ll probably be recruited for a team by then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ginny says.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Harry says, and he sounds completely serious. “Gin, you’re really, really fucking good. Maybe the best player at Hogwarts right now. Of  _ course  _ you’re going to be recruited.”

Ginny’s cheeks feel hot, blazing hot like the sun. He seems so calm, so completely sure of her. She’s reasonably confident in her abilities, but it’s easier to feel assured when she’s with him, and he seems to confident that she’ll get what she want, that she’ll achieve the sort of wild dreams she’s scared to even vocalise most of the time.

“Well,” is all she says, “either way I’ll take my NEWTs. Wouldn’t want my mum killing me, that would put quite the dampener on things.”

Harry chuckles, and strokes her hair. It’s getting quite long, nearly at the bottom of her back now. She can’t remember the last time she cut it. “What happens after?” he asks, so quietly that she has to strain her ears to hear him despite their proximity.

“After what?”

“After the NEWTs. After you’re recruited to a team and I’m officially an Auror. What happens then?”

Ginny thinks about it. “Well. You’ll be a boring Ministry man, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry says dryly. “And you’ll be an international Quidditch superstar.”

“Course,” she echoes, with a grin. “And you’ll move out of George’s flat.”

“I will?” he says.

Her heart is going so fast that she feels it in her throat, and her palms feel oddly sweaty, but she looks him in the eye and says, “Well, it’ll be a squeeze with all of us there, won’t it? And I’ll be living with you.”

The lines on Harry’s forehead smooth out, and his eyes soften. “Right,” he says, and then places his hand on the small of her back, tugs her in impossibly close. “Maybe a place in London,” he says.

“Or,” she says, looking up at him, “in Wales. Near Holyhead.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but he leans down to kiss her, and when he pulls back, he says, “Or in Holyhead, yeah. I can always Apparate to work. Got my licence and everything now.”

“Oh, wow. Look at you. The Chosen One, got a formal licence and everything,” Ginny teases, and she leans in to kiss him again, both of them laughing against each other’s lips.

*


	5. v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! i hope you've had a good week, and i hope you enjoy this chapter <3  
just a couple quick notes before you read it, though: first of all, everyone who's left a comment or a kudos or anything has my entire heart. i love all of you and you're all the best! secondly, we've officially come to the end of chapters i've written in advance. real life has gotten a bit insane the last two weeks (grad school applications... fun... not terrifying at all...) but i'm going to do my best to write some more this week, so hopefully chapter 6 will be up next monday, but please have a little patience with me if there's a few unexpected delays over the next few weeks.

v.

The morning of Christmas eve, Ginny wakes up to an empty bedroom. She frowns as she thinks about it, and sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with slow fists. The bed’s cold, which means Harry must’ve left a while back.

She gets to her feet, grabs her wand. “ _ Lumos. Accio _ ,” she adds, and an old jumper comes flying into her arms. She pulls it on over her pyjamas, shoves her feet into slippers, and makes her way downstairs, stumbling a little in her sleepiness. It’s still early morning, early enough that the sun hasn’t risen, and no one else is awake. It feels almost surreal, like nothing is real, like it’s too early for things to matter or be significant.

When she gets to the kitchen, Harry’s there. He’s sitting at the dining table. It’s still dark, he hasn’t lit his wand or anything, and Ginny can tell he’s awake by how straight his back is. He’s staring at something, but she isn’t sure what. When she steps closer, she can see it’s a little shard of a mirror, and she can just about make out his bright green eye, reflected in the glass.

“Hey.” She makes sure to keep her voice quiet, so she doesn’t alarm him. Even so, he jumps.

He turns to look at her, wand raised and held aloft in his hand, and his eyes are wild, almost fearful.

Slowly, she lifts her hands up in a gesture of surrender, and Harry visibly relaxes back into the chair. “M’sorry,” he mumbles.

She isn’t having any of that. “Nothing to be sorry for. Constant vigilance, Potter.”

A slow smile appears onto his face.

“What’s got you awake, anyway?” she says, and goes to sit down next to him. Harry leans over and tugs her chair closer to him. She takes his hand, laces their fingers together.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Was just… thinking. Couldn’t sleep.”

She looks up at him. His forehead’s lined with worry, and the dark circles under his eyes are, quite frankly, alarming. “Come on,” she says, as gently as she can manage. “Let’s go outside. An early morning fly always helps me.”

He thinks about it for a moment and then stands up, following Ginny out. “How angry would you be if I got you a Firebolt for Christmas?” he asks.

Ginny recognises the deflection tactic for what it is, but she answers him anyway. “Very angry. Besides, I’m gonna get one if I join a team. A Comet Two Ninety or a Firebolt or something.”

“When you join a team,” he corrects.

They’ve both made it to the orchard, but instead of going to the broom shed, she sits down right there. A layer of frost covers the grass, and there’s a cold wind in the air, but he sits next to her without another word.

“When I join a team,” she repeats.

Harry gets out his wand and mumbles something. A blanket appears out of thin air, and Ginny grabs it and wraps it around the both of them gratefully. His arm comes up, wraps around her, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be our first Christmas without Fred,” she says, very quietly. She doesn’t want to see his face, doesn’t want to read any concern for her in his eyes.

“I know,” is all he says. “And Teddy’s first Christmas without his parents.”

“Was that what you were thinking of?” she asks. “Was that why you couldn’t sleep?”

She feels, rather that sees, him shrug next to her. “My first Christmas at Hogwarts,” he starts to say, “was the first Christmas I’d ever gotten any presents. Hagrid got me—this flute, yeah. He’d whittled it himself. The Dursleys got me fifty pence—”

“How much is that?” she asks.

“About a couple sickles, maybe. Something like that,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem to regard it as a big deal.

“The Dursleys gave you two sickles for your birthday?” Ginny repeats, incredulous.

“Yeah, but coming from them it’s like a thousand Galleons, innit,” Harry says dryly. “Anyway, Dumbledore gave me my dad’s Cloak then. And your mum sent me my very first Weasley jumper,” he adds, proud smile on his face.

“I remember,” Ginny says. “Ron wrote to us, a couple weeks before Christmas. Said you weren’t expecting presents. So me and Mum talked about it, and we decided that she should give you a jumper. You’re part of the family, after all.”

Harry looks at her. He has a look in his eyes she can’t quite decipher. It reminds her of how he looked when he first told her he loved her, how he looked that first night when they had sex. It’s ridiculously sappy, that look, and she would take the mickey out of anyone else who looked at her like that. “I didn’t know,” he says. “Didn’t know you were involved in that decision.”

“Well, I was,” Ginny says, and gives Harry a smile. “You know what Mum’s like, though. She’d basically decided to make you a jumper when she first saw you on the platform, Ron’s letter just sealed the deal, really.”

Harry smiles, pulls her even closer. He slips his hand under the jumper she’s wearing, under her pyjama top, rests it on her bare waist. His hand’s cold on her skin, but she doesn’t move it away.

“And then,” he continues. “Fred and George came into the room. Showed me their jumpers, too. It was great. Was the first good Christmas I had.”

Ginny’s breath hitches in her throat as he mentions Fred, but neither of them mention it. “Hopefully not the last good Christmas you had,” is all she says.

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead. She’s grateful he hasn’t shaved; the feeling of his stubble against her skin serves to ground her in the moment.

“It’s my first Christmas without him,” she says after a moment. “All of our first Christmas without him. Do you think it’ll get easier?”

Someone else in Harry’s place, she thinks, would’ve offered her a meaningless platitude.  _ You’re so strong _ , maybe, or  _ of course it’ll get easier _ . Harry doesn’t do that. Instead, he thinks about it for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’ll get easier.”

She closes her eyes again. “He would’ve helped me,” she mumbles, “he and George, would’ve helped me get a gnome and Petrify it to be the angel on the top of the tree.”

“I know,” Harry says, sounding amused.

“I think that’s why Mum put off decorating,” she says. They had finally only gotten around to decorating yesterday, only two days before Christmas, but she could tell none of their hearts were in it. “Doesn’t feel right. Celebrating without him.”

“It’s what he would’ve wanted, though. Right?” Harry says.

“I don’t know. He would’ve wanted…” For the first time, Ginny stops to think about what Fred would’ve wanted, focuses on her brother instead of her own overwhelming grief for a second.

She stands up then, turns to look at Harry and gives him a grin. “I need your help,” she says.

“Oh?” says Harry, who’s busy with untangling the blanket that’d been wrapped around them. He gets his wand out and Vanishes it, and then gets to his feet. “Okay. What are we doing?” he says.

Ginny grins. She really does love him. “We’ve got to go wake George and Ron up,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Come on. Let’s go, we’ve got work to do.”

*

It’s very lucky that they don’t find Ron in a compromising position. Instead, he’s sprawled out on his stomach, one arm thrown around Hermione’s waist, both of them sleeping peacefully. Ginny feels almost guilty to wake them.

Almost.

“Oi,” she says, as loud as she can.

Harry looks at her and grins, and then slams the door behind him, deliberately loud. Ron starts awake. “Whazza--” he mumbles, grabbing his wand and sitting up as fast as he can. 

Hermione stirs right after him. She doesn’t sit up, but moves to rub her eyes with her fists.

“Morning, sunshines,” Ginny says brightly. “Come on, Ron. You’ve got to get dressed. We’re going out.” They don’t have time to spare; George had claimed Wizard Wheezes business and left last night to spend the night in his own flat instead of at the Burrow - although Ginny thinks it’s likelier that being around everyone just got a bit much for him - and they’ve got to rush if they want to Apparate there before Mum or Bill or anyone wakes up.

“Wha--?” says Ron, not nearly as coherent as she would like. 

“You and me. Siblings’ outing. Let’s go,” she says.

Ron’s bleary eyes finally focus on her. “Where are we going?” he says, but Ginny’s pleased to note that he gets.

“I’ll tell you once we’re there,” Ginny says and leans up, kissing Harry’s cheek. “See you in a bit,” she tells him.

“Alright,” he agrees easily.

Ginny surveys Ron. “If you don’t meet me at the front door in five minutes, I’m waking Mum up and telling her where Hermione’s been sleeping these last couple days.”

Ron’s face pales, making his freckles stand out in sharp contrast. “Alright, alright. Blimey. I’m coming,” he mumbles. 

Ginny gives him a sweet smile, and then leaves the room. She’s feeling better than she was this morning, but she’s definitely not up to seeing Ron and Hermione kiss. She needs a far stronger stomach before she can deal with that.

True to his word, Ron meets her at the door in five minutes, wearing an old maroon jumper and jeans. “Where are we going?” he asks again, shivering slightly as the cold December wind hits him. The sun’s rising only now, making the sky pink and orange and yellow. Ginny wishes she could be flying right now. There’s really nothing like a sunrise fly.

“Diagon Alley,” she answers him. “We’ve got to go wake George up.”

“Bloody hell. Why?”

Ginny considers. She doesn’t know how best to say it. “Well. I was talking to Harry, and… it’s our first Christmas without him.” She doesn’t say his name. She doesn’t need to. “And Harry said he would’ve wanted us to celebrate. But think about, Ron. What would he have really wanted?”

Ron thinks about it, and then a look of comprehension dawns on his face. “Right. He would’ve wanted to start some mischief.”

“Exactly,” Ginny says, grateful that he’s gotten it and she doesn’t need to explain further.

“Mum’s not going to like it, is she?” Ron says. He’s starting to grin now. 

“Oh, definitely not. But if she’s yelling at us, she can’t be crying,” Ginny reasons.

Ron holds his arm out to her. “Come on, then. I’ll Apparate us.”

Ginny takes his arm, and before he can take them to George’s, leans in and pecks his cheek. They’ll get through this, all of them. They’re not alone.

*

By the time they get back to the Burrow, it’s nearly lunch time, and Mum’s waiting for them in the doorway, arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

“Before you say anything, Mum,” says George, “we were having  _ family time _ . It’s very important at Christmas.”

“Very, very important,” Ginny agrees, leaning into George’s side. She truly detests the feeling of Apparition; she’s still feeling uneasy on her feet, and slightly nauseous. He wraps his arm around her and steadies her.

“And we weren’t gone that long, anyway,” Ron adds.

“You could have left a note,” Mum says, “None of us knew where you were!”

“Harry and Hermione knew we were going out,” Ginny says. 

“Yes, but they didn’t know  _ where _ ,” Mum says. “In times like this--”

“Mum,” says Ginny. It comes out gentler than she intended it. “The war’s over. We went to George’s flat, and then we got some brunch.”

Mum deflates slightly. “I hope you’re still hungry,” is all she says, and steps aside to let them in. Harry and Hermione are sitting by the fireplace, talking quietly, and Ginny goes to join them, Ron following behind her.

“Just think we’re not doing enough,” Harry is saying, and he pauses to give Ginny a smile before he turns back to Hermione.

“We had the trials, and now the focus should be on moving on, enforcing stricter laws so something like this can’t happen again,” Hermione says.

“We had the trials, but we didn’t get them all, did we?” Harry says darkly.

“What do you mean?” Ginny interrupts.

Harry looks at her, hesitates. “Well, some of them escaped. I’ve been telling Robards we need to focus on rounding up the Death Eaters who are still out there, but he doesn’t seem to agree with me about what our priorities are…”

“Not that he doesn’t agree, mate,” Ron says, “it’s just hard to know where to look, isn’t it? And Robards is right, it’d worry everyone if we started patrolling all the wizarding settlements…”

“I’m not saying we patrol them or-- or send Dementors, or anything, I’m just saying--” Harry begins.

“I know,” Ron says. “Look, I’m on your side, you know that.”

“I think Robards is right, actually,” Hermione says, “it would worry everyone. The war’s only been over for less than a year, and to start getting everyone worried again…”

“But just because the war’s over doesn’t mean everything’s safe and peachy now, is it?” Ginny says.

Harry looks relieved to have someone on his side. “Exactly.”

Ron looks at Harry. “You know, you’re getting to be a lot like Moody. Watch out, I don’t think you could pull off the eye as well as he could. Or the wooden leg.”

Harry throws a wadded-up bit of parchment at Ron, and it bounces off his forehead, effectively breaking the suddenly tense atmosphere.

“Come on, it’s Christmas. We can go back to arguing with Robards after the holiday. Let’s have a game of chess,” Ron suggests.

“Who’s still on the run?” she asks Harry later, after they’ve finished eating lunch and he’s lost about four or five games to Ron. 

Harry looks around before he answers her question, probably to make sure no one else is listening in. “Well. Rodolphus Lestrange, for one,” he says quietly. “He’s the one I'm most worried about. If… if he’s planning anything, there’s no way to know.”

Ginny feels a shiver run down her spine, but she tries not to let the worry show on her face. “Right,” she says quietly.

“And his brother, too,” Harry adds. “We have no idea where they could be. What I think we need to be doing is--”

“Who wants hot chocolate?” Bill announces loudly as he walks into the room, making Ginny jump a little. Harry frowns, but then his features relax into an easy smile as he turns to look at Bill, helping himself to a mug of hot chocolate off the tray he’s holding.

Ginny takes one as well and settles back on the sofa, doing her best to focus on Christmas Eve and her family instead of letting all her worries about Death Eaters take over.

*

That evening, just before they’re about to sit down to Christmas Eve dinner, Luna shows up at their doorstep.

“Hello,” she says, when Ginny opens the door to her. “I was wondering if I could come inside?”

“Of course,” Ginny says. “Is everything alright, Luna?” 

Luna shrugs. “Daddy had to rush to St. Mungo’s. And they’re not allowing visitors. I wondered if I could stay here?” She seems to hesitate before she adds, “I didn’t much want to be alone on Christmas, you see.”

“Well, of course you can,” says Mum, who’s come up behind Luna. “What happened to your father, dear?”

“I don’t know, exactly. It’s a problem with his heart, they say,” says Luna vaguely. “He was behaving rather oddly after breakfast, and then he fainted. So I Apparated us to Mungo’s, but they wouldn’t let me in. Said they would inform me once I was allowed to visit or they had an update.”

Ginny glances at Luna. Beneath the classic Luna mask of serenity, she can tell her friend’s worried. She thinks back to her fourth year, of having to spend Christmas at Grimmauld Place while her father was at St. Mungo’s. “You can stay in my room,” she says, leaning over and grabbing Luna’s hand. “Come on. I’ll show you there, you can put your things down before dinner. You might want to watch out,” she adds in a quiet voice, once her and Luna are on the stairs and no one else can hear them, “there may or may not be something planned for after dinner.”

“Ooh, like a Christmas surprise?” Luna asks.

Ginny considers. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I love surprises,” Luna tells her seriously.

Ginny can’t bite back her grin. “Well, then you’re going to love what comes next, Luna,” she tells her friend.

*

  
  
  
  



	6. vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for the delay. my health's been... meh... the last week or so. hope you enjoy the chapter! i'm not sure when the next one will be, but stay tuned on tumblr (lazyweekendmornings) for any updates :)

It shouldn’t surprise Ginny at all by this point, how comfortable Luna seems at home with them. They’re all sat at the table for dinner, and Luna’s wearing a silver spangly jumper and a matching skirt. “It’s tradition,” she had told Ginny as she took the outfit out from her trunk, “you’re meant to wear bright colours on Christmas eve, to ward off any evil.” Ginny had considered it, and then obligingly changed into the brightest clothes she had, a bright pink glittery t-shirt that she was sure clashed horribly with her hair. It had been a birthday gift from Percy years ago, and her and Luna had to adjust it with charms to get it to fit over her chest now, but all of it had been worth it just for the look on Mum’s face when the two of them came downstairs.

“It’ll be a bit of a squeeze, you staying with Ginny and Hermione tonight, but you’re alright with that, aren’t you?” Mum asks her nervously.

Ginny looks up, meets Harry’s eyes, and the two of them busy themselves with their treacle tart, studiously avoiding eye contact.

“Of course I am,” Luna says. “It’s nice, being here. I always wanted to be part of a big family. I imagine all of you feel very loved all the time, don’t you?”

None of them say anything for a few seconds. Ginny doesn’t think any of them know quite how to respond to her. 

“That’s true, actually,” Bill says. He’s been looking nervous all day, in a very un-Bill manner. He didn’t even bother pretending to be protective of Ginny when he saw her with Harry. It’s all very unusual behaviour for him. “That’s what family is, right? Lots of love and-- and support?”

“What are you on about, mate?” George says.

Next to Bill, Fleur clears her throat. She stands up, which Ginny thinks is unnecessary- everyone’s attention is already on her. “Bill and I,” she says, and then surprises everyone by lifting up the hem of the massive jumper she’s wearing. Her stomach is round, noticeably so. Ginny’s eyes go wide. “Are having a baby!” Fleur completes, quite unnecessarily. 

“Oh, my!” Mum gasps, and gets to her feet. All around the table, everyone’s jumping to their feet and rushing over to Bill and Fleur.

“Congrats, mate!” Ron’s saying, loudly, accompanied by a thumping sound, as if Bill’s being hit on the back by several brothers.

Ginny… she can’t think. She can’t move. Another Weasley. Her first niece or nephew. And Fred isn’t here to see it. She’s forced herself to cheer up today, forced herself to focus on what Fred would’ve wanted, but here’s the truth of it all: he isn’t here to see it. They’re growing up, all of them, and Fred won’t be here to see it.

Next to her, she feels the chair being pushed back; so Luna’s gone to join the others to congratulate Bill and Fleur as well, then. Slowly, she looks up. George is sitting right opposite her. He’s the only other one who hasn’t moved.

They meet each other’s eyes. George lifts a shoulder in a shrug. He has an odd smile on his face, but he looks sadder than Ginny’s ever seen him. Ginny nods at him. She gets it, too. George stands up, clears his throat. Everyone turns to look at him.

“This calls for a toast,” he announces.

“Definitely,” Dad agrees. He waves his wand. A bottle of Ogden’s comes flying out of the kitchen, along with glasses for all of them. Once their glasses are all filled -- except Fleur’s, of course -- and everyone’s returned to their seats, she waits. She doesn’t think she could speak if she tried. There’s an odd lump in her throat, and she can’t stop thinking about Fred. He should be here, now, with all of them.

She really fucking hates the Death Eaters sometimes.

“Bill, Fleur,” George begins. He’s the only one who’s standing up. His voice is slightly thick, but Ginny doesn’t think any of them would hold it against him. “Congratulations. We all can’t wait to meet  _ ze new Weeezley _ ,” he adds, in a truly terrible imitation of Fleur’s accent. It works, though, because everyone chuckles, and even Fleur gives him a good-humoured smile. “Hopefully now that you’ll have your own son or daughter, Bill, you’ll stop worrying about dear Ginny and her shenanigans with the Chosen One himself--”

Out of sight of Mum and Dad, Ginny sees Harry flipping George off. She feels a small smile spread across her face.

“--and,” George continues, “I know that Fred would’ve agreed with me when I say that I can’t wait to corrupt the latest Weasley. Cheers, you two.” He lifts his glass up, and then gives Ron a significant look.

Oh. Right. It’s time. Ginny’d nearly forgotten about that.

“And,” George says, setting his glass down on the table. Ginny notes that he’s finished it, seems to have drained it in one sip. She can’t honestly blame him. “This, I’d say, calls for a celebration. A Christmas surprise, if you will. An upcoming baby celebration. A--”

“George,” Ginny says, shaking her head, “let’s just get to it, shall we?”

“Right you are, little sister,” George agrees. “If you could all follow me outside, we’ve got something planned. Weasleys -- and honorary Weasleys, of course--” Harry, Hermione, and Luna look quite delighted to be referred to as such, “this way.”

*

Once they’re all outside, Ginny takes Luna’s hand, and tugs her with her over to join Harry, who’s talking to Ron and Hermione. He gives her a smile, and wraps his arm around her waist. 

“It’s nice being here for Christmas, isn’t it?” Luna asks Harry, with a happy little smile. “All these people. I’m used to it being only me and Daddy for Christmas. Which is nice, but it doesn’t feel as festive, does it?”

“It beats Christmas with the Dursleys, that’s for sure,” Harry says dryly. “Aunt Petunia would’ve sent me to my cupboard by now.”

Ginny knows enough about the Dursleys to roll her eyes. 

“Remember when Fred and George got Dudley with that Ton-Tongue Toffee?” Ron says with a grin. “That was great, wasn’t it?”

“One of the best things I’ve ever seen,” Ginny agrees. “God, Dad was so mad.”

“He deserved it,” says Harry fairly.

From the corner of her eye, Ginny sees George wave his wand. She leans into Harry’s side, waiting. And then--

The sky lights up, seemingly out of nowhere, in a display of fireworks. Magenta and red and yellow and bright orange. Ginny hears everyone around her gasp in happiness -- well, she hopes it’s happiness, anyway. She doesn’t bother looking around, just stays where she is.

She, Ron, and Fred had debated for awhile about what they wanted the words to spell out. It had led to them just talking for ages, swapping memories about Fred. George had finally told her and Ron the full story about the Marauder’s Map, and how Fred had discovered how to work it. 

“Oh,” Hermione breathes, next to her. 

The fireworks remain where they are, sparkling in the air, and slowly move, all of them, to form words.

_ Mischief Managed _ , reads the first row of words, and then, right below that,  _ Happy Christmas _ , and then,  _ We miss you _ .

“He would’ve loved it,” Harry says, just quiet enough for her to hear and no one else. 

She leans back against his shoulder. “Nah. He would’ve wanted more swear words in it.”

“I’m surprised there aren’t more, actually.”

“Yeah. It’d be a terrible Christmas if Mum killed us all, wouldn’t it?” 

“Yeah, and  _ happy fucking Christmas, we miss you, you bugger _ doesn’t have the same effect,” Ron says from next to them, and Harry laughs quietly. He wraps both his arms around her waist, holds her even closer. 

She almost wishes they had done this at Fred’s funeral. She still doesn’t remember most of it, but she’s sure this is what he would’ve wanted, instead of endless tears and grief. A fireworks display, surprised laughs all around. Much to her chagrin, she can feel tears, hot on her cheeks, but she makes no move to wipe them away. It’s Christmas, after all. Who doesn’t get emotional then?

“George says it was Fred’s idea to give you that map,” Ginny tells Harry. 

“Yeah?” says Harry. 

“Yeah.”

“We’ve had some good times with that map, haven’t we?” Harry says, and gives her a sudden smile. “During your fifth year. Helped us find some good hiding places.”

“That it did,” Ginny agrees.

Ron wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t protest, the way he usually does when faced with any uncomfortable reality about their relationship. Ginny counts it as a Christmas miracle.

Slowly, everyone starts going in. Fleur and Bill go first, followed by Charlie, and a yawning Mum and Dad. Percy goes in, too.

“I’m not too tired,” George says. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his forehead wrinkled up, but none of them argue. 

“I’ve always thought it’s difficult to sleep, the night before Christmas,” Ron says.

“Well, the lightbugs and Nargles are extra powerful in December,” Luna says.

“That’ll do it,” George agrees. He conjures up a blanket and sits down, and Ginny takes Harry’s hand and sits down next to him, soon followed by Ron and Hermione and Luna as well.

“So, tell me about these Nargles,” George says, turning to Luna.

“They infest mistletoe, don’t they?” Harry asks.

“They do,” Luna nods. “It’s good you don’t have any mistletoe in your house.”

“Oh, that’s just because no one wants to see those two kissing,” George says, gesturing to Ginny and Harry.

“Or Bill and Fleur, come to think of it,” Ron says.

“It’s not like the sight of you both snogging is any better,” Harry tells Ron. Even in the dim light, Ginny can see Hermione blush, and she can’t resist winding her up even more.

“Should’ve seen them all cuddled up in bed this morning,” she says. She didn’t think it was possible, but Hermione seems to blush even more.

“That’s what you get for waking us up,” Ron grumbles, the tips of his ears going red.

George gasps. “Ronald. Ginny wakes you up so we could organise this  _ touching _ Christmas display and you complain about it?”

“How very dare you,” Ginny agrees.

“I think it’s lovely, the fireworks,” Luna says. “Makes everything feels more festive. And happier.”

Ginny looks up at the display again, and she can’t say she disagrees with Luna.

*

“Hey,” Harry says, later that night. It’s probably far past midnight, and they’ve all gone to bed already. Hermione’s snuck off to Ron’s room, and Harry’s snuck down here. Par for the course, really, except that they have to be extra quiet; opposite her, in the camp bed Hermione usually sleeps in, Luna’s fast asleep and snoring gently.

“What?” she whispers back to Harry. She’s half asleep, enjoying how it feels to have Harry’s fingers run through her hair, over her back, slipping under her pyjama top to rest on the small of her back. His fingertips are calloused and rough from long healed-over scars, but his touch is exceedingly gentle. It always is.

“It’s Christmas, I think,” Harry responds. 

She snuggles in a bit closer to him, and tilts her head up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he echoes. “Happy Christmas, Gin.”

Last Christmas, she’d been at home, wondering what Harry and Ron and Hermione were up to, terrified at the smallest sound from outside her bedroom, terrified about going back to Hogwarts, trying to hide the scars from the Carrows from her mum and the rest of her family. This Christmas, she gets to fall asleep in bed with her boyfriend, safer than she’s been in a while.

“Happy Christmas,” she says quietly. 

“I want--” Harry’s words are cut off by a yawn, which he suppresses with his free hand. He’s falling asleep, she can tell from how slow his words are, how his voice has deepened with sleepiness. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Hmm?” she murmurs.

“Being here, with you…” Harry trails off for long enough that she thinks he’s succumbed to sleep. Resigned to not hear the rest of his thoughts, she settles in, and she’s just pulling the duvet up to her chin when he speaks up again. “Being here with you is so much better than the Dursleys.”

A surprised laugh leaves here. “Good to know I beat those tossers,” she says.

“Not just them,” he says. “You beat everyone else. Always will.” 

He doesn’t say anything else. Ginny thinks it’s a pause for effect again, but then she hears a small snore leave him. Smiling to herself, she settles down next to him, and lets herself drift off to sleep, too. 

*


	7. vii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MASSIVE apology for the delay, but life got away with me for a bit there... i hope everyone had a lovely holiday/festive season, and that your 2020 is off to a good start! <3

The sun doesn’t come out once during the entire journey back to Hogwarts. Ginny thinks that’s quite fitting, all things considered. She hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed being with her family, and leaving them now to go back to school leaves her with an empty feeling with her chest. Luna and Hermione are next to her in the carriage of the train, talking about the latest issue of the _Quibbler_, but she can’t bring herself to pay attention, not really.

It’s not about Harry. Well. It’s not _just _about Harry. She misses being home. Before the Christmas holidays, she’d been dreading going home in the back of her mind, with nothing to distract her from a potentially very emotional family, but now going back to school, being far away from Mum and Dad and Harry and Ron and George and all her brothers… she doesn’t know how she’ll get through it.

“Are you alright?” Luna asks her suddenly, forcing her attention back to the present.

“Yeah,” she says automatically and sits up, runs a hand through her hair and pushes it off her shoulder. She can’t seem to sit still or settle down.

“You look as though you’re quite sad,” Luna says, in her matter-of-fact way.

Ginny doesn’t know what to say to that. And then she figures that she might as well be honest. “I don’t know,” she says. Opposite her, Hermione leans forward, and furrows her brow in concentration. “I think… I’m just not looking forward to going back, is all,” Ginny finally says. It sounds quite stupid, said out loud.

To their credit, neither Hermione or Luna say that, although Hermione looks quite confused. “I thought you wanted to go back,” she says. “You said you missed playing Quidditch on a real pitch, and you wanted to implement those strategies you were talking about with Ron, the Wonky Feint or whatever it was—”

Ginny bites back a smile. “The Wronksi Feint?” she says.

“Yes, that one,” Hermione says. “Isn’t it good we’re going back?”

“I guess so,” Ginny says, but the heaviness in her chest remains. She is looking forward to Quidditch, but… “I think I’ll just miss home, too.”

“I know what you mean,” Luna says, surprisingly. “I think I’ll quite miss Daddy as well. I won’t be able to visit him as often from Hogwarts.”

“How is he doing, anyway?” Hermione asks gently. Both her and Ginny, along with Ron and Harry, had offered to accompany Luna to St. Mungo’s once she was allowed to go visit Xenophilius, but Luna had politely declined their repeated offers.

“He’s better, I think. He’s happy to be going back home soon,” Luna says, a bright smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“When does he go home?” asks Hermione.

“On Tuesday,” reports Luna.

Ginny rests her head against the window, letting the slow rattling of the train and the voices of Hermione and Luna settle her down. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them what seems like five minutes later, it’s nearly dark outside and Hermione’s looking at her reproachfully and telling her to change into her robes.

Back to school, then. Great.

*

“Miss Weasley,” McGonagall says, surveying her over the desk. “I’m sure you know why I called you to my office to speak to you.”

“Er…” Ginny wonders whether to lie or not. She’s got a pile of Transfiguration homework she hasn’t done yet. It’s only two weeks into term, and she’s already far enough behind that she feels several years older than she had when she first got back to Hogwarts at the end of the Christmas holiday. “I promise I’ll make up for it tomorrow?” she says.

McGonagall looks confused for a second, and then gives Ginny a smile. “Ah. I’m not speaking of your homework—although, now that I mention it, you really should get a move on. NEWTs are a few short months’ time…”

Ginny suppresses a sigh. Hermione and McGonagall are kindred spirits when it comes to this sort of thing.

“But that isn’t what I wanted to discuss,” McGonagall says.

“Oh. Then, er. What is it, Professor?” Ginny says, and sits up in her chair. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Miss Weasley. Everything is alright,” McGonagall says, not unkindly. “As you know, the first match of the term is coming up next weekend.”

Ginny nods. “I remember. The first weekend of February.” Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Should be fun. She’s looking forward to seeing the look on Malfoy’s face when she wins. And all of the Slytherins, really.

“Yes, precisely,” McGonagall says. She hesitates for a moment, and that captures Ginny’s attention immediately. “Do you recall, prior to the Christmas holidays, my informing you that a few talent scouts from the Quidditch League might be in attendance at the first match of the term?”

If McGonagall didn’t have her full attention immediately, then she definitely does now. “Of course, yeah,” she says, and can’t resist adding, “think I’d be a bit mental to forgot that, Professor.”

McGonagall doesn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “Well. I have just gotten word today that they will not be the only ones attending.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny asks.

“Oliver Wood, from Puddlemere United, will be in attendance. As will…” McGonagall pauses. Ginny thinks that she has quite the flair for dramatic pause. “Gwenog Jones.”

Ginny stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the wooden floors, and moves her hands to cover her mouth and muffle her gasp. She feels as if all the breath’s left her at once. “_The _Gwenog Jones?” she whispers. “Captain of the Holyhead Harpies? The best Quidditch player in England?”

“The very same, yes,” McGonagall says. Ginny can’t help but think that she’s enjoying this. “She’s keeping a keen eye out on any promising female students. I do not wish to add to the pressure, but…”

“But the pressure’s on,” Ginny says. “Isn’t it?”

McGonagall nods gravely. “It is, yes. With that being said, I do think it would be alright if you don’t make up for the Transfiguration homework you’ve missed this week until after the match. I do believe you have a lot to get on with, don’t you?”

Ginny wants to hug her. “Yes, Professor. Thanks for telling me,” she says. She’s trying her best to be calm, but she can’t compose herself. Her hands are shaking, and she seems to have forgotten just how to breathe.

“Of course. And Ginny?” McGonagall adds.

Ginny looks up at McGonagall. “Yes, Professor?”

McGonagall smiles at her. “Good luck.”

*

“Are you serious?” Harry says loudly, making Ginny jump. “Gwenog Jones will be there?”

Ginny nods. She’s very glad she had thought of _Muffliato_ before using the mirror to speak to Harry. She’s huddled up in her bed, under the duvet, one hand holding the mirror and the other holding her illuminated wand.

“That’s incredible,” Harry says. When he first answered, he looked exhausted, all dark circles and five o’clock shadow, but his eyes are bright with excitement now, and Ginny feels even more excited – and nervous – about the whole thing now.

“It is,” Ginny agrees. She still doesn’t know if she believes it, to be honest. If it had come from anyone but McGonagall, she would’ve been convinced they were playing some sort of practical joke on her.

“Do you think she’ll be hidden from everyone?” Harry wonders, bringing a hand up to scratch at his stubble absentmindedly. Ginny misses him quite terribly, wishes she could be there with him, telling him about this in person.

“I don’t think Slughorn will let that happen. Do you remember how proud he was of his friendship with her? He’ll probably force herself to stay an extra night or two so he can show her off to his Potions classes,” she says.

Harry laughs. “Wouldn’t put it past him,” he agrees.

It’s dark outside, and Ginny knows no one can hear her but Harry. She’s covered by a duvet and feels safe, and that’s what prompts her to voice what she’s been thinking ever since her visit to McGonagall’s office. “What if I fuck up?” she says. Her voice sounds odd to her own ears.

Harry’s smile fades. His expression is solemn as leans a hand forward, as if by instinct to wrap around her or reassure her or something, and then lets it fall back by his side. “You won’t,” he says instead.

“How do you know?” she says.

A slow smile spreads onto Harry’s face. “Well. You’ve been on my team before, haven’t you?” he says, in the sort of teasing tone that never fails to bring a smile onto Ginny’s face. “Would have lost the Quidditch Cup my sixth year without you.”

“Of course,” she says, “should’ve known to trust you, Captain Potter.”

“Exactly,” Harry agrees. “You won’t fuck up. Reckon you wouldn’t if you tried.”

“You were a really good captain, you know,” Ginny says, partially because it’s undeniably the truth and partially because if she lets this vein of conversation continue, then Harry will say more sweet things and she’ll want to cry, and she can’t have that.

“Takes one to know one, Captain Weasley,” Harry says easily.

Ginny chuckles. And then, because she’s been holding back on saying it for ages now, she says, “I miss you.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah, I know. I miss you, too. George reckons I’ve been moping.”

“Good. It’d be very embarrassing if I was the only one,” Ginny says. “How’s George, by the way?”

Harry leans forward conspiratorially. There’s a glint in his eye that piques Ginny’s interest at once. “Well. As it turns out, it’s very quiet in the flat tonight. George is staying somewhere else. Has been quite a lot, actually.”

“Really?” Ginny says. “Wait, no. Don’t tell me. Angelina?”

Harry nods. “Definitely don’t tell him I’ve said this, but I’m glad he’s staying with her. Last week, Ron and I got in early, and we saw the both of them on the couch. Together.” He wrinkles his nose.

Ginny’s torn between feeling disgusted at the visual image that pops into her mind at Harry’s words and oddly happy for her brother.

“Would it be very hypocritical if I said I didn’t want to think about my brother doing that?” she asks.

“I kind of feel the same way, actually. It was a bit much, to see that,” Harry says.

“Merlin. Can you imagine Ron’s reaction if he knew how hypocritical we’re being?” Ginny says.

“To be fair, Ron’s never walked in on us,” Harry points out.

“Thank Merlin for that,” Ginny says. He’s already bad enough without having witnessed anything truly incriminating.

“I’ll see you this weekend,” Harry says, after a few seconds of silence. “Promise. I’ll be there.”

Ginny won’t admit it, but she feels reassured by that. Given the smile on Harry’s face, she doesn’t really need to. “Okay,” she says. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Harry says. “Besides, I’m not doing it for you, anyway. I’ve always wanted to meet Gwenog Jones,” he adds, perfectly straight-faced.

“Fuck off,” Ginny says sweetly, but she laughs as she settles into bed, all traces of nervousness abated.


	8. viii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus chapter! hope you enjoy, and sorry for the tiny cliffhanger at the end. new chapter sometime next week- hopefully monday! don't forget to let me know what you think, either by commenting here or over on tumblr.

“Are you alright?” Dean asks her, at the beginning of practice, just after they all change and gather together.

“Yeah, of course,” Ginny says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re shaking,” Dean says.

Which isn’t true. She isn’t shaking. Or, if she is, then she certainly doesn’t want to be reminded of it. It isn’t a big deal. It _isn’t_. It’s the last practice before the match tomorrow. Their last practice before Quidditch scouts and Gwenog fucking Jones are going to see her fly, are going to see her team fly, are going to judge her flying and her Chasing and her captaincy, probably, and if she makes a bad impression tomorrow then she has basically no chance of impressing anyone at the try-outs in a few months…

But anyway. She’s fine. Not shaking. Not nervous at all.

She forces herself to take a deep breath and squares her shoulder. “Well, maybe you should pay less attention to my shaking and more attention to your playing, Dean. You fumbled the last three times Seamus passed the Quaffle to you during practice yesterday.”

Dean looks offended, but he doesn’t look concerned and protective over her, which is an improvement.

“Ginny,” Seamus starts to say, and Ginny doesn’t have to look at him to know that he’s got that annoyed look on his face that he has whenever anyone says anything to Dean. She recognises his tone, has experience with it from her fifth year.

“Anyway,” she says, before Seamus – or anyone else – can tell her anything else. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today. I want to get in some extra practice dodging Bludgers, those nearly got us last time. And try out a few of the strategies we discussed, if we’ve got time. I want us all to practise enough that we could play in our sleep. If I woke you up at midnight tonight, you should be able to do a Wronksi Feint without thinking about it. We’re going to push ourselves as hard as we can. _Harder _than we can. Right?”

“Bloody hell,” Jimmy Peakes mutters.

Ginny turns to him and raises a single eyebrow.

“I mean – yeah, we’ll do it,” he corrects himself.

She nods. Much better. “Okay, good. Look, you’re a good team. You’ve all been playing for years. We can do it. Besides,” she adds, when she sees how pale their seeker, a tiny second-year girl, looks, “we all survived Voldemort. So you can survive me, right?” She’s greeted with a small chuckle.

“Come on, then,” she says, and takes a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

By the time practice ends, everyone is muddy and grumpy, and Ginny’s pretty sure that if she keeps them back for another second, they might collectively murder her. “Alright,” she calls out, guiding her broom back to the ground and dismounting. “Alright,” she says again when everyone’s joined her. “Right. Alright. You were all good. Really good. Go, steal some food from the kitchens if you want, get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. Coote, hang on. _Episkey_. Okay, there you go,” she says, frowning in concentration as she aims her wand at Coote’s nose. “There. That should do it.”

She stays back after everyone leaves, watching as Coote clutches his nose theatrically. She had warned him, but he’d been too busy trying to dodge the Quaffle that he hadn’t noticed Peakes’ bat hit his nose. At least it’s not broken. Or she thinks so, anyway.

She’s still muddy and sweaty, but she sits down on the pitch, cross-legged on the grass. It’s a clear night tonight, and if she looks up, she can see more stars than she’s been able to recently. She’s spent the last week being nervous about the whole thing, about Gwenog Jones seeing her, and it’s nice to have a minute alone, when she’s too physically exhausted for the pressure to get to her much.

“Ginny?” someone says next to her, making her jump. She was sure everyone had gone back to the castle.

She turns towards the source of the voice, and smiles when she sees Hermione, wrapped up in a thick scarf. “Hey,” she says.

“I got worried, when everyone got back to the common room and you didn’t,” Hermione says.

Ginny must’ve been sitting here longer than she realised, then. She could’ve sworn she’s only been here for a couple minutes at most.

“I needed a minute,” she says by way of explanation.

“Mind if I join you?” Hermione offers tentatively.

“No. Not at all,” Ginny says. She wonders if Hermione thinks she’s odd, choosing to sit out in the freezing February air. Hermione’s idea of relaxing during stressful situations is probably indoors, with a book bigger than she is.

Without a word, Hermione waves her wand, Conjures a blanket, and spreads it out on the grass before sitting down. “I always wondered what you and Harry were up to,” she says, after a few moments’ silence, “during the summer last year. You’d be outside in the orchard by the Burrow for hours, basically every day.”

Ginny smiles. “Nothing as explicit as anything you’re thinking of,” she teases. “Just… talking, I guess. We’d talk. Just sit, sometimes. It’s hard to get a quiet moment in the house, isn’t it?”

Hermione nods. “I suppose you have a point,” she concedes.

“It’s just easier,” Ginny admits. “Out here. It’s easier to feel like I can handle everything.”

“It’s just a match, Ginny,” Hermione says, and rests her hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’s, you know, a lot of pressure, but…”

Ginny tries very hard to suppress the sudden flash of anger she feels, white-hot, in her chest. “It’s not just a match,” she says, and shrugs off Hermione’s hand off her shoulder. “It’s…” If it goes well, it’s her future career, it’s her chance of getting to do the one thing she can do that actually makes her feel happy and useful, the one thing she can do without thinking of everything, of the sadness and darkness that lurks around her, just out of reach, all the time. It’s patronizing as hell, is the thing. Ginny wouldn’t ever say that to Hermione when she’s het up about the NEWTs or homework or something. It’s not just a match.

“I know,” Hermione says. She doesn’t, not really.

“Don’t you get it? This is… this is what I want to do, Hermione,” Ginny says. As abruptly as it flared up, the anger abates, leaving just exhaustion and sadness. “Playing well tomorrow, it’s my best chance of actually making this happen for myself.” She brings a hand up, angrily scrubs under her eyes. She will not cry. She doesn’t cry, as a general rule. That’s not something she does. But she’s exhausted and angry, and there’s been a small part of her all day that’s been whispering _Fred would’ve loved this, Fred would’ve understood why I’m so excited and nervous_.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione says quietly.

Ginny leans in and rests her head on Hermione’s shoulder. It’s not her fault. Hermione’s never understood Quidditch, but she tries to understand it, and she’s one of the best friends Ginny’s ever had, and Ginny can’t blame her for it. “It’s okay,” she says, but her voice is thick.

“I know it’s important to you,” Hermione says.

“It is,” Ginny agrees.

“But you’re going to play terribly if you spend the night out here, you know,” Hermione says. Ginny smiles despite herself. “So, come on. I’ve asked Kreacher, and there’s a hot chocolate waiting for you in the common room. Let’s go.”

Now that she thinks about it, a hot chocolate sounds very good right now. And she probably would play terribly with no sleep. So she stands up, follows Hermione back to the castle and back to the common room, and tries to ignore how overwhelmed and tired she feels.

*

The next morning, it’s barely five am when Ginny wakes up. All of her nervousness from yesterday, all of her sadness, she refuses to let it get to her. All she feels is cool determination, the kind of single-minded focus that she only gets when she’s got a match ahead of her.

By the time everyone wakes up and starts to come downstairs from the dormitories, she’s got several sheets of parchment ready to go. She’s spent the last couple of hours hard at work, and there’s an almost manic energy thrumming under her skin, in her veins.

She can’t bring herself to eat anything at breakfast. She chokes down a cup of tea Demelza Robins hands her, gives Luna a smile when she sees she’s brought her lion hat back out, but she can’t eat.

“At least a slice of toast,” Hermione says, pushing a plate towards her.

Ginny picks the toast up obediently and nibbles at it, but she has to put it down. After a few minutes, she makes eye contact with Seamus. He’s sitting with the rest of the team, and they seem to be done with breakfast, too.

She stands up. “Alright,” she says, and all of her team members stand up with her, too.

“Good luck,” Hermione says.

“You’ll be great,” Luna says serenely.

Ginny gives them both a smile. “See you soon,” she says, and then makes her way out of the Great Hall. She doesn’t have to check to know that she’s being followed by the rest of the team, Dean and Seamus and Jimmy and Ritchie and Maya and Emily.

She only speaks once they’re in the changing rooms, changed into their Quidditch robes and ready for the match. Now’s the time for a pep talk, she reasons. She thinks about Angelina, in her fourth year, and Harry, in her fifth year, draws on the for inspiration. Okay. She can do this.

She starts easy, shows the team the strategy drawings she’d spent her morning on, tells them everything they need to be wary of. The Slytherins don’t play fair, and it’s been clear the past week, but it’s looking suspiciously cloudy today, so they need to not get deterred by sudden rain.

“Just remember. If it starts raining and it gets bad, use _Impervius_,” she concludes, and then takes a deep breath. Now’s the motivational part. The only problem is that she has no idea how to motivate them.

“We’ve practised every day for the last week,” she begins. “Dean, Seamus, you’re good Chasers. We can work together. And we’ve got more teamwork in our little finger than any of the Slytherins.”

“You can say that again,” Seamus mutters.

“Emily, you’re a great Keeper. Just remember not to hang left to much, you can’t leave any of the posts unattended,” she continues. “And Jimmy and Ritchie, stay away from each other’s bats, and don’t let the Slytherins get any of us. Especially Maya, she’s the youngest member here, so they’ll think she’s the most inexperienced and try and get to her with a Bludger first. And Maya… you can do it. You caught the Snitch at our last two matches. Just keep it up,” she says, and Maya nods, determined. They all look quite determined. Ginny feels nothing but pride as she surveys them.

“Right. It’s nearly time. So what do you say, let’s go and show everyone who’s watching how fucking good we are?” she says, and grins along with the team. It’s time.

She shakes Astoria Greengrass’s hand, waits for Madam Hooch’s whistle, and then they’re off.

It goes fine at first. Dean and Seamus get a goal in each, she gets two, Emily blocks off all but one of the Slytherin’s goal attempts. Forty-ten. An excellent start. She even manages to execute a Wronksi Feint, which is a fun bonus.

But then. She turns to the side, sees one of the Slytherin Beaters aim a Bludger right to Maya, who doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Why doesn’t she notice? Oh. _Oh_. A second’s focus lets Ginny see that Maya’s headed to the left, chasing a golden blur that Ginny knows is the Snitch. No one seems to have noticed, thank Merlin, but Maya doesn’t seem to notice the Bludger.

“Maya!” Ginny calls out. “Watch out!”

The wind’s picked up; Ginny doesn’t think anyone’s heard her, least of all Maya. The Bludger’s still on its way, speeding towards Maya, who seems to be seconds away from the Snitch, unless the Bludger gets to her, and Ginny…

Ginny acts on instinct. She leans down, holds onto the handle of her broom, and nudges it towards Maya, as fast as she can. It’s a school broom, probably far older than she is, and she doesn’t think it’s ever gone as fast as she’s guiding it now. She flies until she’s in between Maya and the Bludger’s path, and she just about sees Maya’s fingers close around the Snitch before something heavy collides with her head and sends everything into darkness.

*

She’s warm and lying on something soft when she wakes up, and her head aches more than it has in ages.

Wait.

She tries her best to open her eyes, but they feel as if they’re dried shut. After a few attempts, she manages to do it. The Hospital Wing, bright and bleary, comes into focus, and she groans.

Next to her, she hears a small chuckle. She turns her head to the side, and Harry’s perched on a chair next to her, holding onto her hand. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself. What happened?” she mumbles.

“What _happened _is that a Bludger collided with your head. Could’ve smashed your skull in,” Madam Pomphrey says as she bustles in.

“Did it?” Ginny asks.

In response, Madam Pomphrey holds out a bottle of Skele-Gro towards her. She lets go of Harry’s hand to hold onto the bottle, takes a few sips of it until Madam Pomphrey snatches it back away. “Fuck, that’s nasty,” she mumbles.

“That’s what you get for flying directly towards a Bludger,” Harry says, but he has a dry smile on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you’re meant to be worrying about me, not taking the piss,” Ginny mutters. Luckily, Madam Pomphrey has left the wing, muttering angrily all the way, and she’s free to take Harry’s hand again.

“Course I was worried. Madam Pomphrey reckons you’ll be fine after a night here, though,” Harry says, and squeezes her hand.

“Did we win?” Ginny asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Just a second before you fell, I think. One hundred and ninety to ten. Slytherin never stood a chance.”

Ginny smiles at that. “Was worth it, then,” she mumbles, and then looks up at Harry. “You know. You’re the Auror. I’m supposed to be at _your _bedside, when you’re injured.”

“You have been, though. Left me that card in my third year, remember?” Harry teases.

“Fuck off,” Ginny groans. She remembers that stupid singing card all too well.

“No, it was nice,” Harry says. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my skull got smashed in by a Bludger,” Ginny says.

“Fair enough,” Harry says. He glances around, and then leans in and kissed her. “I’m glad you’re awake now, though,” he says.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Ginny asks, blinking up at him when he pulls away from the kiss. It’s hard to really focus, what with the head injury and the way Harry has of kissing her where she forgets everything else.

“A couple of people wanted to see you,” Harry says, and his tone is so deliberately casual that he has Ginny’s attention immediately.

“Who?” she asks, but before Harry can answer, the door opens and McGonagall comes striding in, followed by…

“Oh, Merlin,” she whispers, and sits up in bed so abruptly that she feels dizzy from the sudden movement.

“Miss Weasley,” McGonagall says, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. This is Gwenog Jones. She wanted to speak with you.”

*


	9. ix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy! this is slightly feelings-heavy... as always... so be warned!

Gwenog Jones is by her bed. Either Ginny is very concussed right now, or the best moment of her life is happening and she’s too injured to take it all in properly. From the amused twitch of McGonagall’s lips, it’s the latter.

Ginny doesn’t stutter. She doesn’t blush. (From the warmth on her cheeks, that’s almost definitely a lie and she’s blushing, but that’s irrelevant. She will deny that she was blushing, to her dying day.) She sits up carefully, as carefully as she can, and leans back against the pillows.

“Hi,” she says, and her voice comes out slightly breathier and more high-pitched than she’d intended it to.

“Miss Jones,” McGonagall says, “This is Ginny Weasley. And, of course, Harry Potter.”

From the corner of her eye, Ginny sees Harry roll his eyes, but he holds his hand out, polite as always. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you,” he says.

“It’s good to meet you, too,” Gwenog tells Harry, and shakes his hand, but she doesn’t so much as look up at his scar before turning to look at Ginny. “Weasley, I hope you don’t mind that I wanted to come see you.”

_ She called me Weasley! As if I’m on her team! _Ginny wants to squeal. “N-no, of course not. Of course I don’t. It’s, uh, it’s so good to see you. I mean—”

“What you did on the pitch,” Gwenog says, ignoring Ginny’s stammering, “taking that Bludger for your Seeker so she wouldn’t be hurt. Was that intentional?”

Ginny frowns. Of all the things she’d been expecting Gwenog Jones (_ Gwenog Jones! _) to say, this wasn’t it. “Yes,” she says slowly. “Maya needed to get the Snitch. She didn’t hear me when I tried to warn her…”

“That’s what I thought,” Gwenog says. For the first time, she smiles. “That’s a sign of a good Captain, right there. Putting your team ahead of yourself, even though you’re a good enough flyer to do just fine on your own without caring about the rest of them. Professor McGonagall said you’re thinking of trying out in April.”

“I am, yeah,” Ginny says, and nods fervently, which the splitting headache she has makes her regret a second later.

“Well. I look forward to seeing you there. The Harpies are looking for players like you,” Gwenog says, and holds her hand out to Ginny. Ginny automatically leans forward to shake it.

“Take care, Miss Weasley. Don’t leave until Madam Pomphrey says you may,” McGonagall says. After one last smile, Gwenog walks out of the hospital wing, followed by McGonagall, leaving just her and Harry by her bed.

“Oh, Merlin,” Ginny breathes, slumping back in her bed. Two smiles. She just got two smiles from Gwenog Jones. Gwenog is looking forward to seeing her at try outs.

“Holy shit,” Harry says. Now that they’re gone, his impassive Auror mask has fallen, and his eyes are bright as he grins at Ginny. “Gin, did you hear that? She basically said you’re going to get on the team!”

“I think I might pass out,” Ginny whispers.

Harry takes her hand, gives it a squeeze. “By the way,” he adds, and Ginny looks up when she recognises the teasing tone in his voice, “you were far more starstruck over her than you ever were over me.”

Ginny lets out a surprised chuckle. “Well, she’s the best player the Harpies have seen in _ years _, Potter, all you did was survive a curse or two,” she teases back.

“Fair point,” Harry agrees, leaning down to kiss her.

“None of that,” says Madam Pomphrey, bustling into view. “Mr Potter, she is _ injured _ and needs to rest. No more visitors.”

Harry pulls back, and Ginny lets out a sigh. “I’ll talk to you later?” he murmurs to her.

“I hope so,” she says and gives his hand a little sigh.

“I can’t wait to tell Ron Gwenog Jones was in the room and he missed it,” Harry says thoughtfully. Ginny bursts into laughter.

“Promise me you’ll tell me _ exactly _how he reacts.”

“Will do,” Harry says, eyes twinkling. “Get some rest, Captain Weasley.”

“See you, Auror Potter,” she retorts, smiling even as she watches him leave the hospital wing.

*

When she wakes up, Harry’s gone, but Hermione and Luna are sitting in chairs around her. To her surprise, Ron’s there too.

“Hey,” she mumbles, doing her best to sit up in bed. “Where’s—”

“Harry had to go,” Ron says, before she can finish her sentence. “Robards called him. Didn’t say why. But it’s good to see you, too,” he adds with a teasing smile.

Robards called him. But it’s… surely it’s Saturday still, isn’t it? Unless— a look out the window tells her it’s the next day morning. Why would Robards be calling him into work on a Sunday?

“It’s obviously good to see you, you tosser,” she says instead of voicing any of the doubts in her mind.

Hermione meets Ginny’s eyes and then says, “I think it was just some paperwork he had to do, Ginny.”

“Right,” Ginny says slowly. Paperwork. That makes sense. She’ll ask him about it later. She’s sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. “What else did I miss?”

“Well. You won the match,” Hermione says with a shrug. “Right after you went down, actually. I don’t think the team celebrated without you, though. Seamus said they’d wait for you to get back.”

“That was nice of them,” Ginny hums. “So I’m good, right? I can leave?”

“Well,” Ron says. He’s looking a little shifty, and Ginny sits up in bed. “Mum wanted me to double-check that you’re sure. Before you leave the wing. So you should maybe wait for Madam Pomphrey to come and check…”

“What?” Ginny repeats. “Why? It’s just a Quidditch injury. Why’d you even tell her?”

“Well, we were meant to have dinner at the Burrow after seeing your match, and Harry couldn’t make it because he was here with you. So I had to tell her, didn’t I?” Ron says. The tips of his ears have gone pink.

“No. You really didn’t,” she mutters. “Why’s she so overprotective now, anyway?”

She’s met with incredulous looks from Ron and Hermione. Only Luna seems unfazed. “Well,” Luna says, “I expect your mum is a little worried, since you spent most of last year being tortured by Death Eaters.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Ginny mutters, but her cheeks flush warm with the realisation. Merlin, her mum’s probably worried sick about her being at Hogwarts at all, after everything with the Carrows and everything. She feels like an idiot, not having realised. But on the other hand… Voldemort’s gone, isn’t he? The Carrows are, too. So there’s no reason to worry. Will they have to spend the rest of their life walking on eggshells, afraid of a war that’s meant to have ended?

“Look,” Ron says, and he looks distinctly uncomfortable, “just wait for Pomphrey, okay?”

Ginny lets out a sigh. “Okay,” she says.

Madam Pomphrey checks her over two or three times before she finally agrees to let her go. “But take it easy, or I will personally make sure you’re not allowed on a broom again,” she warns.

She gets dressed with Luna’s help, since – even though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone – she’s still sore, especially around her head. Growing bones is no easy task. Ron and Hermione wait outside the hospital wing, and Ginny very much doesn’t want to think about how they might be passing the time while they wait for her.

“Are you alright?” Luna asks her.

“I think so,” Ginny says. “Do you think everyone will every stop worrying?”

Luna considers it, and moves behind her to do up her robes. “I don’t know,” she says. “I hope so. It would be rather inconvenient if they didn’t. Do you think Demelza Robins could interview you for the next issue of the student _ Quibbler _?”

Ginny shrugs. “Okay. I thought you were going to write about the potential members of Rotfang Conspiracy in the new Ministry of Magic, though.”

“Oh, yes,” Luna beams. “I do expect that’ll be the cover story. It’s more important than a Quidditch injury, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” agrees Ginny. “Far more important. Let’s go join the others, shall we?”

*

After they see Ron off at McGonagall’s office, from where he’s taking the Floo back to Diagon Alley, Luna decides to go back to the library with Hermione to work on the next issue of the _ Quibbler _. Ginny, for one, is very much looking forward to finding out more about the Rotfang Conspiracy.

She decides to go back to her dormitory, though. Despite her protests, she’s exhausted, and she still hasn’t processed any of the events of the last couple of days. She never thought a day when she had her skull basically bashed in with a Bludger would be a good day, but it also ended up being the day she met Gwenog Jones. So, you know. It balances out.

She means to lie down and think about everything, try and make it all seem less surreal to herself, but she closes her eyes, just for a second, because her eyelids won’t stop burning with exhaustion. She doesn’t even realise she’s drifted asleep, until she hears a voice say “Gin?”

She sits up, disoriented, and rubs her eyes. There’s no one in the room, and she can see the sun setting through the window. But she was sure she heard—

“Ginny? Ah, fuck, you’re asleep, aren’t you? Fuck, I should just—”

She leans over, grabs her mirror from beneath her pillow, and gives Harry a sleepy smile. “Hi,” she says.

“Did I wake you up?” Harry asks. He’s not in his familiar-looking bedroom in George’s flat. He doesn’t seem to be at the Burrow, either. Going by the background, she would say he’s at –

“Are you at the Ministry?” she asks in disbelief. “Harry. It’s Sunday evening. What’re you doing there?”

Harry rubs a hand over his face. “Robards called me in yesterday,” he admits.

“Did you sleep there?” Ginny demands.

“No. Course not,” Harry says. A brief pause, and then he sheepishly adds, “I went home to sleep, but I Apparated back this morning.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a workaholic?” Ginny asks.

“I think you may have mentioned it once or twice,” Harry says. “How are you feeling?”

“Kind of groggy,” Ginny admits. “I think I accidentally napped the day away.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kind of feel like I’ve been asleep with my eyes open all day,” Harry says, “I really hate paperwork.”

“Why spend your weekend doing it then, Potter?” Ginny asks. 

“You maybe have a point,” admits Harry. “I just don’t want Robards to think that I think I can get away with not doing that kind of thing. Last thing I need is someone thinking I want special treatment…”

“But that doesn’t mean you do more work, does it? Do Neville and Ron and the others work as hard as you?” Ginny feels compelled to point out.

Harry shrugs, which is answer enough. “It’s fine,” he says. 

Ginny raises her eyebrow at him. “Is it?” 

“It’ll be fine,” Harry amends. 

“If you say so,” Ginny says. “But go home. It’s a Sunday. Try and get some rest for once.”

Harry grins at her. “I will if you will,” he says. “You still look exhausted.”

More than anything, Ginny wishes she could be there with him, could climb into bed with him and talk to him all about everything that’s happened, how she’s oddly scared to hope that her dreams might actually be fulfilled, how it seems too good to be true, how she doesn’t like that her mother worries about her extra but feels like an ingrate and a brat to say anything. She thinks he’d understand if she tried to tell him. “I am exhausted,” is all she says, but her words sound extra tired to her own ears. 

“Yeah?” Harry says.

“I don’t know. Kind of feels like I always am,” Ginny says. 

“I know what you mean,” Harry says. They meet each other’s eyes, and Ginny feels infinitesimally better about everything.

“I’ll see you at the next Hogsmeade visit?” Ginny asks, but it suddenly seems ages away. Merlin, she spoke to Harry _ yesterday _and she still misses him. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I wish…” he adds, and then trails off.

“Yeah. Me too,” Ginny says, because she thinks she gets it. She wishes, too. “Just a few more months, though.”

“Yeah. And then I’ll see you to take our NEWTs together,” Harry says with a little snort.

“Can’t wait,” Ginny says with a grin. “You already distracted me from my OWL revision, now you can do the same for my NEWTs.”

“It’s important to keep up tradition,” Harry says.

“I love you,” Ginny says. It isn’t her first time saying it, but they don’t say it that often to each other; they don’t need to, not really. But it just slipped out today. She met Gwenog Jones, which is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her, possibly ever in her life, and all she wants to do is to speak to Harry about it and go to sleep in the same bed as him. If that’s not love, she has no idea what is.

“Me too,” Harry says quietly. “See you soon,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. 

*


	10. x.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i haven't followed any kind of schedule the past few chapters - i can't really say when the next chapter will be, but subscribe to this fic and ao3 will email you whenever it happens! or hit me up on tumblr - lazyweekendmornings - to find out update details :) hope you enjoy the chapter!

“Hermione, if you spend another _ minute _on your hair, I swear on Merlin’s saggy—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Hermione (finally) emerges from the bathroom. Her bushy hair’s been tamed, and now falls in gentle waves around her shoulders. It would look quite natural if Ginny hadn’t been witness to the half an hour battle, beginning with Sleekeazy’s and ending with heating her wand up to curl her hair using the charm that the both of them had learnt from _ Witch Weekly _over the summer.

“You look good,” Ginny admits, begrudgingly.

Hermione blushes. “Thank you.”

“Valentine’s Day really isn’t such a big deal, though,” Ginny adds. She’s been trying not to think about the last Valentine’s Day she spent at Hogwarts. Hogsmeade visits had been out of the picture, obviously, and she’d had to deal with Vincent Crabbe leering at her and saying _ Maybe you’ll do, even though you’re a blood traitor, Weasley _.

“Well—no, of course it isn’t,” Hermione says, bringing her back to reality. “It’s not a big deal at all. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just an artificial holiday, and—”

“Breathe, Hermione,” Ginny says, amused.

“But it’s the last time I’ll meet Ron before his birthday,” Hermione says, and bites her lip. Ginny’s suddenly reminded of the Hermione she first met, a nervous twelve-year-old with wide eyes and an overbite. Impulsively, she leans forward and tugs Hermione into a hug.

“It’ll be _ fine _, Hermione,” she said.

There’s a pause, and then Hermione’s arms come up to wrap around her, returning the hug tightly. Ginny sometimes think Hermione’s used to dealing with everything alone when it comes to her feelings and nervousness and worries. She thinks it’s maybe what they have in common sometimes.

“Thanks,” Hermione says quietly.

“Come on. We’ll get late,” Ginny says, linking her arm through Hermione’s. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s quite eagerly been looking forward to seeing Harry. They’ve been speaking on the mirror, of course, a few times a week, but it’s not the same. She wants to _ see _him, wants to touch him and see the way his eyes sparkle when she teases him.

They make their way downstairs, and once they leave the Gryffindor Common Room, they see Luna, leaning against the wall and thumbing through their latest issue of the student _ Quibbler _.

“Hi, Luna. Are you coming to Hogsmeade with us?” Hermione asks.

“Oh, yes. I’m meeting Neville,” Luna says. At Ginny and Hermione’s confused looks, she adds, “We’re spending the day together, as friends. I think Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan might be joining us, too.”

“That sounds fun,” Ginny says.

“Yes. I would ask you to join us, but I assume you want to spend the day with your boyfriends, don’t you?” Luna says.

“I’m pretty sure they would love to meet you, though,” Ginny says with a grin.

“That’s true. I’ve been writing to Harry, to ask him about his comment about the Rotfang Conspiracy. He is part of the Ministry inner circle now, you know. So are Neville and Ron,” Luna says.

“Excellent point,” Ginny agrees.

*

It’s a surprisingly sunny day for February, despite how cold it is. Ginny’s wrapped up in a jumper knitted by her Mum and her warmest scarf, but she can feel the sun on her face, and it makes her smile.

When they’re entering Hogsmeade, she stops suddenly. “Did you hear that?” she says. That sounded almost like—no, but it can’t be…

“Hear what?” Luna says, but Hermione frowns, looking to the left. Aha. She hears it too. So Ginny _ wasn’t _imagining it.

She turns to the left, in the direction Hermione looked at, and then steps forward, towards the rustling sound. She reaches out, grasping at nothingness until she finds what she’s looking for, and then she tugs at it. Beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry grins at her, hair rumpled, leaning against a tree.

“Harry!” she says, and then flings her arms around his neck.

“You’re really tough to surprise, Weasley,” he says, but she feels his warm hands on her back, and she doesn’t have to look up at him to know that he’s grinning.

“You’re really shit at sneaking around, Potter,” she retorts, and closes her eyes. She rests her cheek against his chest, and she can hear his heartbeat against her ear. Steady. Reassuring.

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione says, but Ginny doesn’t open her eyes, doesn’t dare step back from him, just in case this is some kind of fevered hallucination. She’d be fine if it was, actually, as long as she doesn’t have to wake up or let go of Harry.

“Hi, Luna. Hey, Hermione. You look nice,” Harry observes. His grip on Ginny is just as tight as hers, and she can feel him rub a hand over her back, in that absentminded way he has of touching her that makes her feel warm and safe. It’s that that finally gets her to open her eyes. She looks up at Harry, and then goes onto her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before she reluctantly steps back.

“Thank you,” Hermione says, looking delightedly. “Do you, uh – do you know where—”

“The Three Broomsticks,” Harry says. “I managed to convince him not to wait for you at Madam Puddifoot’s.”

“Thank God for that,” Ginny mutters.

“I’ll walk with you, that’s where I’m meeting Neville,” Luna says brightly. “Bye, Harry. Have fun! But not too much fun, because Valentine’s Day means you’re at a higher risk of Wrackspurts.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry promises.

“So,” Ginny says, once Hermione and Luna have left and Harry’s promised to speak to Luna about the Rotfang Conspiracy in depth later, “I very much hope we’re not going to Madam Puddifoot’s.”

Harry laughs, actually throws his head back and laughs, even though it really wasn’t that funny at all. “Oh, we are, actually. I have a table booked for us,” he tells her.

“How better to celebrate Valentine’s Day?” Ginny muses. Harry’s arm is still around her, so it’s easy for him to start leading her down the path. She falls into step beside him without a word.

“Exactly. I put in a request for the pinkest table they have,” Harry says, very seriously.

“If we’re actually going there, I might have to break up with you,” Ginny says.

“I would judge you if you didn’t,” Harry says. “We’re not going there. But I can’t tell you where we’re going.”

“Why not?” Ginny asks.

“Because it’s a surprise,” Harry says.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “There aren’t many places you can surprise me here, you know,” she points out. “There’s maybe two pubs and three places to eat…”

“Who says I’m surprising you here?” Harry says mysteriously. He has his poker face on, his Auror mask, but Ginny can see that his eyes are shining with excitement, so she decides to go along with the surprise. They’re walking towards back towards Hogwarts, Ginny realises, towards the outskirts of the village.

“You’re being very presumptuous, Auror Potter. Who says I’m going to come with you?” she teases. Excitement’s building up, though, bubbling up in her chest. It’s been ages since she’s been properly surprised.

“You ready?” Harry says, instead of teasing her back. He draws to a halt, right at the boundary of the village.

She nods.

“Okay. Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes,” Harry repeats. “Trust me, Gin.”

She hesitates for another second, but then nods, closing her eyes. Harry pulls her even closer, arm securely around her waist and then there’s a _ pop! _and squeezing sensation around her, pushing her in from every direction. Just when it’s getting too much, it eases up, and even before Ginny opens her eyes, she knows they’re not in Hogsmeade anymore. It’s loud, much louder than it gets in Hogwarts, the kind of noise that can only be caused by Muggle cars. And people, lots of people, she can hear the distant buzz of that.

“You usually tell someone when you’re going to Apparate them somewhere, Potter,” she says.

“Open your eyes,” Harry says.

She does. Her eyes go wide as she takes it all in. They’re standing on the front step of Grimmauld Place. “Oh,” she breathes. She still doesn’t understand why Harry’s brought her here, for Valentine’s Day. She wasn’t expecting anything romantic, not exactly, but…

“Here,” Harry says, and opens the door for her. “Kreacher isn’t in tonight. Nor is Andromeda. We have the place all to ourselves. No Ron and George here, either.”

_ Oh. _

“Well, then, Potter. How do you propose we pass the time here?” Ginny asks, stepping in.

Harry closes the front door behind himself, mirroring her smirk with one of his own. “Oh, I think we’ll find a way,” he says, and she’s already laughing even as he leans down to kiss her.

*

In her fourth year, the year after Voldemort returned, the year her dad got bitten by Voldemort’s godawful snake, she spent quite some time in Grimmauld Place. She associated the house with lots of images: Sirius, Tonks, Remus. Ghosts. She associated it with Boggarts, and waiting anxiously for news about her father, and the place her brothers invented their Extendable Ears.

None of those memories are pleasant. Even the good ones are tinged with bittersweet edges, remind her of people who aren’t around anymore.

Today, though. Today might be the best memory she’s ever created in this house, she thinks. She and Harry are lying down in a spare bedroom that Kreacher’s redecorated so much that she doesn’t even know who it belonged to, originally. They’re still panting, and her head’s propped up on his chest, right on the scar over his heart.

“I should be getting back soon, don’t you think?” she says lazily.

Next to her, Harry groans. “No.” He wraps his arm around her bare waist. “You shouldn’t. We should stay here.”

“Mm. Can you imagine McGonagall’s face? _ I’m sorry I missed curfew, Professor, I was too busy with my boyfriend _,” Ginny chuckles.

“I bet it’d be priceless,” Harry says. “Or maybe not. She’d let you get away with more than you think, maybe.”

“Always said she was a dark horse,” Ginny says, muffling a yawn against his chest. She’s starting to feel dangerously cozy like this.

“I’ve missed this,” Harry says after a moment, rubbing his hand in slow, concentric circles over her back. “Being here with you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ginny says with a sigh. “This was… fuck, this was a really good Valentine’s Day gift. Sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“I have Ginny Weasley in my bed, naked. Don’t need much else,” Harry says.

“This isn’t even your bed, tosser,” Ginny says, but she grins at him.

“Technically it is. It’s my house,” Harry points out.

“You’re getting very good at seeing the technicalities in a case, Auror Potter,” Ginny says.

“It’s almost weird, how much you sound like Robards,” Harry says thoughtfully.

“That’s just what every girl wants to hear,” Ginny says with a grin, and sits up in bed reluctantly. She gets to her feet and stretches out, and she can feel his eyes on her even as she grabs her wand and Summons her clothes back to her.

“Just a few more months,” Harry says, and she hears the rustling of the sheets as he gets up, as well. “And then we won’t have to work so hard for a few hours’ alone.”

Ginny smiles and turns to look at him. “A few more months,” she repeats, like a mantra. “This was the best Valentine’s I’ve ever had,” she admits.

“Me too. By far,” Harry says. Ginny turns to look at him; he’s fully dressed now, and he steps towards her, tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear so gently she feels as if she might cry.

She clears her throat, goes on her tiptoes and kisses her cheek. “Come on, then. If you Apparate us now, we’ll be able to join the others for a drink before I have to go back to school.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and tangles their fingers together as they start to walk downstairs and out of the house.

A few more months. She can do this. This will have to do, for now. 

*


	11. xi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope everyone's doing well and staying safe. sending lots of love <3

The first thing Ginny sees when she gets off the Hogwarts Express is Ron. The second thing she sees – unfortunately – is Hermione running to Ron, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissing him in a blur of bushy hair.

“Ugh,” she mutters. It’s almost as bad as Bill and Phlegm, honestly. Not the most fun start to her Easter holidays.

“Hi, Gin,” says a pink-eared Ron when he pulls back from Hermione. “Congrats on winning the Cup, that was incredible.”

Ginny cheers up a little at that. “It was too bad you and Harry couldn’t have come to the match,” she says.

“I know,” Ron says. “I hated missing it.”

“Where is Harry?” Hermione asks. Ginny’s glad she asked, so Ginny doesn’t have to.

She also knows the answer before Ron says it. “Ministry,” he says.

“He works too hard,” Hermione says. She and Ron share a look, the kind of look Ginny’s seen them share a thousand times before. It’s their _I’m worried about Harry _look. She’s used to seeing it, and she’s used to feeling a little left out, but what she isn’t used to is feeling in on it with them. She’s as worried about him as they are.

“He’s been working late every day this week,” Ron says, reaching over and taking Ginny’s trunk for her. “So, I was thinking we could go and see him, convince him to come home for dinner.”

“At the Ministry?” Ginny asks.

“Why not?” Ron says. He frowns with concentration, and then taps her trunk and then Hermione’s with his wand. After a second, they disappear.

“Where’d they go?” Ginny asks.

“The Burrow,” Ron shrugs. “Been practicing that one.”

“That was really impressive,” Hermione says. Ron’s ears go pink again. “I suppose we have time for lunch before we go, but we really must get started on NEWT revision,” she adds.

Ginny suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. If she has to hear Hermione say _NEWT revision _one more damn time…

“Let’s go,” she decides. She’s grumpy and tired from the journey, and she doesn’t think she can handle seeing Ron and Hermione snog on top of being worried about Harry.

“We can get a taxi from here, I think,” Hermione says, and Ron levels her with a look.

“A taxi? Are you a witch or not?” he said, and for some reason, that makes Hermione’s eyes bright and happy. “Gin’s passed her Apparition test now, haven’t you?” he adds, and Ginny nods, but wrinkles her nose. She _hates _Apparition.

“Let’s go, then,” Ron says, and then leans over and takes Hermione’s hand. Hermione takes Ginny’s as well, and the three of them Apparate off the platform.

*

The Ministry’s crowded, which Ginny supposes make sense; it’s six pm and everyone probably wants to go home. Not Harry, of course, because he’s a workaholic, Ginny grumbles in her mind.

Ron leads them expertly through the hallways, into a lift. The last time Ginny was at the Ministry was at the trial of the Carrows. She hasn’t been back since, and she has to admit that she didn’t miss it one bit, not at all. She doesn’t know how Harry handles coming here every day. Or Ron, for that matter.

As a function of her avoiding the Ministry like the plague, she’s never seen Harry’s office before. Ron leads them down a long corridor and then opens a door.

Harry’s the only one in the office. He’s hunched over a piece of parchment, and he doesn’t so much as look up as they enter. Ginny can’t think of a time recently when he _hasn’t _noticed someone walk into a room. That’s how she knows the depth of his concentration.

“Oi,” Ron says loudly.

Harry jumps. He gets to his feet in one fluid motion, holding his wand out to them.

“Relax, we’re too tired after the train to kill you,” Ginny says, and then steps up to him, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him.

She feels him relax around her, and his arms slowly come to wrap around her waist. “Hi,” he mumbles, muffled against her lips.

“Do you have to do that here?” Ron demands. He’s such a fucking hypocrite, Ginny thinks. He has no right to protest, especially after his and Hermione’s display at the station.

Instead of saying any of that, though, she closes her eyes, rests her head down on Harry’s shoulder, and takes a deep breath. Fuck, she’s missed him. She hasn’t seen him in February, and the last few months have possibly been the slowest of her life.

“You alright?” Harry asks her quietly.

Ginny shrugs, pulls back, and gives him a smile. “Should be asking you that, Potter,” she says.

“I’m fine,” Harry says, too quickly for Ginny to believe it, but she’s known for a while that Harry has realms of emotions hidden in his _fine_. “Hi, Hermione,” he adds with a wave.

“What have you been working on so late?” Hermione asks, instead of returning the greeting.

“Nothing,” Harry says, but he sounds frustrated. “It’s just… we still haven’t caught them all, you know.”

“The Death Eaters?” asks Ginny.

“I thought you were here finishing the paperwork on the Bones case,” says Ron.

“So you’ve been pursuing an independent investigations?” asks Hermione. They both have their _concerned about Harry _expression again.

“The Death Eaters, yeah,” Harry tells Ginny, ignoring Ron and Hermione. He sounds absolutely exhausted. “I’m worried about it. The Lestrange brothers are out there. They’ve been evading us for nearly a year now…”

“You have no idea where they are?” Hermione says, drawn in despite herself.

“No,” Ron answers instead of Harry. “We thought we had a lead on Rodolphus last month, Robards sent me and Harry to check it out—”

Which was why they couldn’t come to the last Hogsmeade visit of the term, Ginny remembers.

“—but it was a false lead.”

“They’re out there. I just… I _know _it,” Harry says. He looks sincere, and frustrated, and angry, and exhausted. Ginny slips her hand into Harry’s.

“We’d know it if someone spotted them,” Ron says.

“Would we?” Harry says. The two of them share a long look.

“Anyway. No point thinking about it now,” Ron finally says. “Mum’s expecting us home for dinner. We should go.”

Harry lets out a sigh and nods. With his free hand, he taps the parchment he’d been looking at, and then a few folders on his desk. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“What was that spell?” Ginny asks Harry, as they start following Ron and Hermione out of the office.

“Encryption spell,” Harry explains.

Ginny grins up at him. “Yeah? What other fancy Auror spells have they taught you, Potter?” she teases. Before he can answer, she leans up and kisses him again. When she pulls away, he’s smiling, his first genuine smile of the evening.

“You know,” Harry tells her, just loud enough for her to hear. “There’s a little room here, at the end. Meant to be a breakroom, but… reckon we’ll have a bit of privacy there.”

“Which we definitely won’t have in the Burrow,” Ginny says quietly.

“No, we won’t,” Harry says, and smirks.

Ginny squeezes Harry’s hand and then looks up. “Harry and I will join you at the Burrow in ten minutes,” she calls out.

Hermione lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “Don’t take too long,” Ron warns, and then he’s tugging Hermione into the lift.

“He probably wants some alone time with Hermione, too,” Ginny muses.

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Don’t much want to think about that,” he admits.

“No, me neither. Besides, we’ve got better stuff to think about, don’t we?” she asks him.

He looks down at her, bringing up his hand to cup her cheek. Who would’ve thought, muses Ginny. Harry Potter, the Chosen One, capable of the kind of tenderness that would make Rita Skeeter explode. “Yes,” he says, “we do.”

*

Later, once they get home and eat dinner and Harry’s snuck into Ginny’s bedroom and climbed into bed with her, once it’s just the two of them under her duvet, she rests her head on his chest, closes her eyes, and lets herself relax for the first time in what feels like years.

“Try-outs are next week,” she tells him.

She feels his hand slip under the t-shirt she’s wearing, trace circles into her back. “Yeah?” he says.

In her fifth year, she dated Dean for months. He used to tell her that trying to get information from her was _like pulling teeth_. Whenever she was sad, he would ask her, over and over, what was wrong, until she felt almost as if she was being interrogated. One of her favourite things about Harry, she thinks, is that he doesn’t do that. He’s always quiet, never pushes her. Lets her talk at her own pace. Merlin, she loves him.

“Yeah,” she says, and then, “I haven’t told anyone.”

“That try-outs are happening or that you’re going for it?” Harry asks.

“Both,” Ginny says, and then considers. “Well. I’ve told McGonagall. She told me about it, and she asked me if I’d be going. I mentioned it to Hermione, but she doesn’t know it’s next week. Mum and Dad don’t know, either.”

“Why haven’t you told them?” Harry asks.

Ginny keeps her eyes closed. It’s easier to be honest like this, when she doesn’t have to look into his eyes. It’s easier not to laugh it off, the way she would with anyone else. “I don’t know,” she finally admits. “But… I don’t know if I want to. I mean, Mum won’t approve. You know she won’t. And Dad will try to be gentle, but he’ll try and convince me to go to a Ministry job or something. And it’ll be a whole thing, there might be a row. And what’s the point if I don’t get on the team, you know?” She’s rambling now, she thinks, but Harry doesn’t stop her, so she keeps going. “And I don’t want to be responsible and think about back-up jobs now, or sensible options, or everything that Hermione’s been saying, or that my mum will say. I just want to _try_, and I want to focus on trying, and not on what everyone will be saying.”

“Gin,” Harry says, impossible soft.

She stops talking, forces her eyes open, and looks up at him.

“You’re going to get on the team,” he tells her.

“You don’t know that,” she says.

“I do,” he says.

She doesn’t say anything, but she lets him pull her closer. “So. When next week?” he asks.

“Monday,” she tells him.

“So,” Harry says, sounding thoughtful, “we need an excuse to get you out without anyone suspecting where you’re going, right?”

Ginny nods. “I had a plan, actually,” she says.

“Of course you did,” Harry says, with a little smile.

Ginny leans up and kisses Harry’s cheek. “Reckon you could get the day off then?”

“Of course,” Harry says without hesitation. “Death Eaters can wait until after my girlfriend gets on the Harpies.”

Ginny laughs and settles down under the duvet with him. “Night, Potter,” she says.

“Night, Weasley,” Harry says, and it sounds impossibly fond.


	12. xii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! hope everyone's staying safe :)

Ginny wakes up early. Earlier than usual. Earlier than she needs to. She leans over, shakes Harry gently, and then sits up. By the time she’s gotten to her feet, Harry’s stirring, blinking his eyes open far too slowly for her taste.

“Harry,” she says to get his attention. When he does nothing but blink up at her, she tries again. “Come on, Potter, it’s Monday and try-outs are today. We’ve got to go.”

Harry sits up at that. His wand is right next to him, and he grabs it and Summons his glasses. “Right, yeah. Time for a cup of tea?” he asks sleepily.

Ginny knows he’s been working all week. He’s been asleep maybe five hours, and that’s being _very _generous. She knows all this, and she’s still eager to get up. Sure, she’s an hour early, but she’s not going to risk being late to the Harpies. Opportunities like today don’t come around every day. Merlin knows they don’t come at all, most of the time. She has half a mind to snap at Harry and tell him to fuck the tea and get ready to leave. That being said… Harry has purple shadows under his eyes, and he’s been looking tired for months now. Years, if she’s being honest.

“Fine. One cup of tea,” she agrees, and leans over to ruffle Harry’s permanently messy hair. “Come on, then,” she adds before going to get dressed.

Harry’s slow to get up, but once he’s dressed and has his glasses on, his eyes shine when he looks at Ginny. “Happy try-outs day,” he says.

“You’re an idiot,” Ginny tells him, but she’s grinning as she takes his hand and leads him downstairs.

It’s early enough that no one else is up yet, thank goodness. It’s still dark outside. The sun won’t rise for a while, but Ginny already knows what it’ll be like if they step outside; cold, with a layer of frost covering the grass. She’s spent countless mornings out there, revelling in the peace of the Burrow and the outdoors before everyone wakes up.

“Where will the others think we’ve gone off to?” Harry wonders. He points his wand at the kettle, which fills itself up with water and starts steaming.

“I’ve told Mum we’re spending the day with Teddy,” Ginny tells him. “So we might have to swing by Andy’s house on the way back, so that it’s not _technically _a lie.”

“Robards says that if you have to use _technicalities_, you’ve already lost the argument,” says Harry.

“Good thing you’re not dating Robards,” Ginny retorts. She sits down at the table and takes a deep breath. It’s creeping up on her now, how nervous she is about try-outs. This is her one chance. Her one opportunity not to fuck it up, to play for the team she’s loved for years, to literally fulfil her lifelong dream.

What if she fucks it up?

She can feel her heartbeat thudding in her ears. Is that even possible? She’s starting to lose feeling in her hands, too. She’s been looking forward to this for months, if not more. And it’s all in her hands. Her parents don’t even _know _she’s doing this, fuck.

She’s lost in thought for a few minutes, and only looks up when a plate sets itself down in front of her. She jumps at the sound and looks up, faced with a plate of toast and a cup of tea. Harry’s been busy the last few minutes, clearly.

“You alright?” he asks, sitting down opposite her.

“What if I fuck up?” she says.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and she busies herself with her cup of tea. It’s made just the way she likes it. Harry’s a damn angel.

“You won’t,” he finally says.

Ginny raises her eyebrow at him.

“You _won’t_,” he repeats. “You’ve been playing for years, Gin. You won the Cup after a year of not being allowed to play at all.”

Ginny closes her eyes, lets his words wash over her and calm her down. She focuses on her tea, the warm cup bringing feeling back into her shaking hands.

“I reckon you’ll get on the team,” Harry says, very gently. “And Puddlemere try-outs are tomorrow, aren’t they?”

Ginny nods. She takes another sip of her tea.

“So even if you fuck up today, you won’t fuck up tomorrow,” Harry says.

Ginny opens her eyes, looks into Harry’s eyes. He looks sleepy but earnest and doesn’t look as if he’s lying to make her feel better.

“But,” he adds, “you’re not going to fuck up today. Yeah?”

“Do you think I’m a terrible person?” Ginny asks. Harry looks startled by that. “Because I’m not telling anyone where I’m going,” she clarifies.

Harry looks confused, but then the corner of his mouth crooks in a smile. “You’ll tell them once you get on the team,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

Ginny takes a moment. She nods, and then finishes her tea in one gulp before moving onto her toast. Okay. She can do this.

*

After the trials, she goes to meet Harry. He’s waiting in a little Muggle pub on the high street, and she spots him immediately. He’s sitting at a table in the back, ignoring a plate of food and reading through a folder he’s got propped up against an empty glass.

“Hey,” she says as she approaches, and he jumps a little. She’s changed back into her old jeans and jumper, but the smile and warm look he gives her makes her feel as if she’s dressed up or something.

“Hey,” he echoes. He looks around, makes sure no one’s looking, and then takes out his wand and taps the folder. It’s wiped blank immediately, and he shuts it, folding it and putting it away in a pouch around his neck.

Ginny leans over and grabs his pint glass, takes a sip and wrinkles her nose. She’s never been too fond of Muggle beer.

“How’d it go?” he asks her.

“I don’t know,” she says, carefully. He looks at her, arches an eyebrow and says nothing. “Okay, fine. I _think _it went well. And Gwenog told me after that I did a good job,” she adds.

Despite the circumstances of their first kiss, Harry’s not been one for public displays, as far as she’s known him. Which is why she’s so taken off guard when he whoops, tugs her closer into a hug, and then leans up to kiss her. “I _knew _it,” he says, sounding delighted. “I bet you were incredible. Fuck, I wish I could’ve seen it.”

Ginny’s laughing as she leans down to returns the kiss, moving to sit down next to him when she pulls back. She feels exhilarated. There’s still adrenaline coursing through her veins and Gwenog – _Gwenog Jones! _– told her she did a good job. Honestly, she almost doesn’t care about what happens after the try-outs, if she gets on the team or not.

“I’ll just have to see you next time,” Harry adds, pushing his plate towards her. She picks up his sandwich and takes a bite. Merlin, she’s starving.

“Next time?” she asks, around a mouthful of sandwich. She swallows and says, “I don’t think you’re allowed in the Puddlemere try-outs next week, either. Although Oliver Wood might make an exception for the Chosen One.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure Oliver will always think of me as his Seeker and not the Chosen One,” he says. “But no, that’s not what I meant. I meant I’ll come see you when you play your first match for the Harpies.”

Ginny can feel her face warm up. “What was in the folder?” she asks, instead of responding.

Harry accepts the topic change with grace. “Probably shouldn’t tell you,” he says, and then adds, “not here, anyway.”

Ginny nods. She’s about to ask him if they should order another sandwich, but then with a tiny _pop_, a letter arrives onto the table. She picks it up, frowning. “It’s Ron’s handwriting,” she says.

Harry leans in close to look at it.

_Gin –_

_Andromeda just dropped by with Teddy. Mum knows you were lying about where you were today. Hurry home before she sends out a search party or summat. _

_Ron_

“Fuck,” Ginny groans.

“We should probably go,” Harry says, looking sheepish.

“I’m going to have to tell her, aren’t I?” Ginny says.

Harry takes out his wallet, gets some Muggle money out and tucks it under his plate on the table. “Well…” he says. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to.

“Fuck,” she says again.

*

The wind’s roaring in her ears as they Apparate back to the Burrow. Long-distance Apparition always gets her feeling nauseous, and the idea of speaking to her parents – especially her mum – is doing nothing to relieve the stress.

“Relax,” says Harry next to her. “It’ll be fine.”

She knows her grip of his hand is bordering on vicelike, but she can’t seem to bring herself to let go. “That’s what you think,” she mutters.

Mum’s waiting for them at the entrance. She looks absolutely livid.

“Hi, Mum,” Ginny says.

“Hi?” Mum repeats. She sounds incredulous. Ginny recognises the beginning of a classic Molly Weasley temper. “Would you like to let us know where you have been? We have been worried _sick_—”

“Not all of us,” someone else says, and George joins Molly at the doorway. “I just assumed you were off being romantic somewhere. Young love and all that.”

“Is _everyone _home?” Ginny asks helplessly. Without waiting for an answer, she steps past her mum and George, ignoring both of their looks – Mum’s angry one and George’s amused one.

“Not everyone. Ron’s at home for lunch, and I decided to stop by,” George answers, which Ginny knows means Ron somehow let George know what’s going on and he decided to come and witness it for himself.

“Harry, would you like to tell us where you’ve been?” Mum insists. Ginny turns, sees Harry looking sheepish. She walks into the kitchen, where Ron, Hermione and Andromeda are sitting at the table. With a sigh, she goes to sit next to them, watching as Mum and Harry, followed by a delighted-looking George, walk into the kitchen. Mum has her arms crossed, and she’s looking at Harry with narrowed eyes.

Before he can answer, a little voice says ‘Bababa!’ and little Teddy’s crawling up to her and Harry. Harry’s face lights up, and he leans down and scoops Teddy up. “Hi, there” he tells him very softly, and nods seriously as Teddy babbles to him.

“Hi, Teddy,” Ginny puts in, and she can’t resist leaning in and kissing Teddy’s chubby little cheek. She’s trying very hard to hold her ground and not give in, trying to hold on to her annoyance, but it’s not her fault. Teddy’s almost _too _cute. It’s unfair, really. Teddy squints in concentration and his hair turns raven black, the way it always seems to when Harry’s holding him. Harry laughs delightedly. Ginny thinks about when she first went with Harry to see Andromeda and Teddy, thinks about how far they’ve come since then.

“Since you told me you would be spending the day with Teddy and Andromeda today,” Mum says, undeterred, “_imagine _my surprise when none other than Andromeda shows up for lunch and tells me that she hasn’t seen you all day!”

Ginny looks up at Andromeda, who gives her a look that Ginny interprets as ‘sorry I gave you away’. She doesn’t really hold anything against her, so she gives her a little smile.

“Sorry, Molly,” Harry says. He’s focused on Teddy even more than usual, which means he’s avoiding Mum’s eye contact on purpose.

“I was about to call Arthur home from work to look for you!” Mum says.

“Wouldn’t I be the one looking for them? I’m training to be an Auror,” Ron grumbles, but falls silent when both Mum and Hermione glare at him. Merlin, that’s uncanny.

“We were gone for less than one day, Mum, and I told you we would be out,” Ginny argues.

“Don’t argue with it,” George mutters.

“You told me you would be at Andromeda’s!” Mum says.

“Yeah, alright, I lied about that, but I did say we would be out!” Ginny says, crossing her arms.

Teddy looks at her and then Mum, and then buries his face in Harry’s shoulder. Ginny can’t say she blames him for it.

“Why would you lie? In a time like this, we—” Mum says.

“We’re not in a war anymore, Mum! You’re telling me you never snuck off with Dad and lied about it?” Ginny demands.

Ron inhales sharply.

“How _dare _you talk to me like that—I’ve been worried sick!” Mum says.

“Harry, I think we best take Teddy outside for awhile,” Andromeda says quickly, and stands up.

“Harry can stay right here and answer for his actions,” Mum says sharply.

“Mum, Harry and I are of age, you can’t—” Ginny says.

“No, it’s alright, Gin,” Harry says quickly, and hands Teddy to Andromeda. Andy takes him out to the garden, and Ginny wishes more than anything that she could join them.

“Now. Would you like to say where you’ve been?” Mum says. She’s gotten so angry that her voice is deathly calm. Never a good sign.

“Fine,” Ginny snaps. “Harry came with me, okay? I asked him to!”

“Came with you where?” Mum presses.

“To Wales!” Ginny says. She hears Ron muffle a gasp. “To Holyhead. I went to try out for the team and he came with me, okay?”

No one says anything.

“Shit,” George mutters. “All hell’s about to break loose, isn’t it?”


	13. xiii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone's staying well and safe <3 enjoy this chapter from harry's pov, for a fun change. as always, let me know what you think!

The first time ever that Harry saw Mrs. Weasley, he had just been broken out of the Dursleys’ and driven to the Burrow in Mr. Weasley’s flying car. She had proceeded to yell at all of them and then feed Harry a breakfast more filling than any of the food he’d eaten all summer. He’s since seen her lose temper countless times: with Fred and George, with Sirius, with Ron, with Bill when he doesn’t cut his hair.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her _this_ angry, though. He can almost the steam coming out from her ears. Her cheeks have gone red, and her hands are on her hips. The worst part is that it’s directed at Ginny and him. Ron, sitting at the table, seems frozen, as if scared to make any movement or draw attention to himself at all. Next to him, Hermione’s eyes are wide and panicked. George, on the other hand, is standing behind Mrs. Weasley, looking an odd combination of amused and slightly nervous.

“You were in _Wales_ all day?” Mrs. Weasley said, deathly quiet. Even Harry knows that’s not a good sign.

A small part of him wants to retreat, to maybe go and sit with Ron, or join Andromeda and Teddy in the back garden. If he cranes his neck, he can see them, Andromeda sitting in the grass, Teddy sitting in her lap.

Ginny, though. She’s standing straight, hair rumpled from the wind and the Apparition and the Quidditch, arms crossed. Her face has a defiant, blazing look to it.

Sometimes, when Harry can’t sleep and Ginny’s at Hogwarts, he worries that he made their whole relationship up, because Ginny’s almost too good to be true. He’d never voice these thoughts out loud – God knows George and Ron would have a field day with it – but he never loves her more than when she’s like this, defiant and strong and set in her convictions. She looks like she could take down Voldemort himself with the force of her glare alone.

He can’t leave her to argue with Mrs. Weasley alone. He steps closer to her, takes her hand, and gives it a little squeeze. She turns to look at him, and she looks almost surprised.

“And _when_,” Mrs. Weasley adds, looking even angrier, if possible, “were you both planning to share with me that you’ve been off gallivanting together? Need I remind you that after everything we’ve gone through—” She cuts herself off. She’s gone pale. Harry feels a bit guilty, then. They have been through a lot, and he didn’t want her to be worried.

Ginny doesn’t seem to agree, though. “What, Mum? Say it. After everything we’ve gone through, I’m not allowed to go try out for a team? This is about my _future _–”

“Oh?” Mrs. Weasley says. She’s starting to look flushed with anger. “If it was about your future, you’d be applying to a job in the Ministry, or looking into other options. You would not be trying out for a Quidditch team.”

“Lots of people play on teams. I don’t see why I can’t be one of them,” Ginny argues.

“Ginevra!” Mum says.

“Oh, she’s brought out _Ginevra _now,” George mutters to Ron.

“What, do you think I’m not good enough to do it or something?” Ginny demands.

“It’s not about that!” Mrs. Weasley says, but Harry notices that she doesn’t answer the question. “If this is something you want to do, then you should have told us! We should have discussed it! I don’t see what the meaning is of you going on your own – to Wales! – without so much as a _note_, without giving us any kind of hint to where you were going—no, not just no hint, because you _lied _about it! What if something had happened to you there? And Harry—” Mrs. Weasley says, turning to level Harry with a look. He resists the urge to shrink back from it. “You of all people should know the dangers of—”

“_No_,” Ginny says. “That’s not fair. Harry has nothing to do with this. He came with me for support, you don’t get to make him feel guilty—”

“Gin, it’s alright,” Harry says, quietly. The last thing he wants is to cause further conflict between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. He can’t fault her for worrying about them. It’s been a year since the war and he still worries about her, about everything, far more than he admits, far more than he should. How can he blame her for the same?

“No, Harry, it’s not fair. You didn’t do anything except be a good boyfriend,” Ginny says. She looks angrier than ever.

“Ginevra—” Mrs. Weasley says, but Ginny interrupts her yet again.

“I’m of age!” she says. “Don’t talk to me like that, like I’m a misbehaving twelve-year-old. I wanted _one _day. And I told Harry about it and no one else, because he wouldn’t laugh at me, or tell me I’m being an idiot for trying out, or – or tell me I’m too young to know what I want to do with my life!” Her hand is shaking in Harry’s grip, and he doesn’t have to look at her to know that she’s close to tears.

“You might be of age, but you’re still a _child_! Excuse me for being worried!” Mrs. Weasley says. “The last time I checked, I am your mother, and I have a right to be concerned with your future, and—”

“What are you angry about, Mum?” Ginny says. “The fact that I didn’t tell you where I’d be today, or the fact that I want a job you don’t like?” Her voice is a little thick.

“Pardon me,” Andromeda says, looking tentative by the garden door, “I couldn’t help but overhear—”

“Because of the shouting, do you reckon?” George mutters.

“And I think it might be for the best if I leave. Teddy’s getting upset,” Andromeda says.

Harry looks at Teddy, who looks about a second away from crying in Andromeda’s arms. “Will he be alright?” he asks Andromeda.

“He’ll be fine,” Andromeda says. “Just needs a nap, is all.”

“Baba,” Teddy says, making grabby hands at Harry. His nose is scrunched up, and Harry doesn’t think twice before he goes over to them, Ginny following him.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises Teddy. Ginny lets go of his hand, and he lifts Teddy up into the air, kissing his nose.

“Dadada,” Teddy says in response.

“I promise,” Harry says. He has no idea if Teddy even understands what he’s saying, but. Doesn’t hurt to say it, anyway.

“Have a good nap, Teddy,” Ginny whispers, sounding soft and fond in a way she only gets around Teddy. Sometimes Harry wonders if she’ll be like that if they ever have babies of their own. Sometimes he wants it more than anything else.

Teddy scrunches up his nose again, and his hair fades from jet black into a familiar sandy brown. A sure sign he’s going to sleep soon. Harry reluctantly hands him back over to Andromeda.

“Thank you for having me, Molly,” Andromeda says, polite as ever. She gives Harry a smile, nods at everyone else, and then walks out.

Harry watches them until they’re out of eyesight and then turns back to Mrs. Weasley, who doesn’t seem to have calmed down. Ginny leans into his side, and he nudges his shoulder against hers.

“What would I have told Andromeda and Teddy if something had happened to you in Wales?” she demands.

“Low blow,” George mutters, and Ron nods in agreement.

“Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione says tentatively. “I’m sure it was perfectly safe, and they’re both of age—”

“I’m still allowed to be worried!” Mrs. Weasley says.

“Fuck this,” Ginny mutters.

“_What _was that, young lady?” Mrs. Weasley demands.

“I said, fuck this,” Ginny repeats, and Ron, who Harry’s known to invent swear words of his own in his spare time, actually winces. “It was _one day_, Mum. You’re overreacting. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was, but I’m not sorry about the rest of it.” Before Mrs. Weasley, or any of them can say anything else, she storms away, upstairs to her room, and slams the door behind her.

“_Well_,” Mrs. Weasley says, and then storms out into the garden, leaving just Harry, Ron and Hermione, and George.

There’s silence for a few seconds. “So,” George says, “that was fun, huh?”

*

An hour later, Harry finds himself de-gnoming the garden with Ron and George. Hermione’s sitting down on a patch of sunny grass, bent over one of her textbooks, furiously revising.

“Do you realise we have NEWTs too, soon?” Ron says.

“Technically, yeah. I’m not too worried,” Harry says.

“Could you imagine the scandal if they fail the Chosen One?” George says.

Harry flips him off.

“Do you think Ginny’s alright?” Ron says, sitting down on the grass, seemingly content to abandon the task at hand. Harry’s all too happy to join him.

“She’ll be fine,” George says. “She’ll come back out at dinner, yell at all of us, and go back. It’ll be great.”

Harry thinks of her hand shaking in his, of how close she had seemed to tears, of everything she’s confessed to him about how worried she is about her parents’ reaction.

“She seemed really upset,” Hermione says. Harry jumps. He hadn’t known she’d be paying attention.

“Well, Mum _was _really angry,” Ron says fairly.

“I’d say she was pretty angry with Harry, too,” George says. He plops down onto the grass next to Ron and Harry.

“She was, yeah,” Harry agrees. He thinks about how Mrs. Weasley had looked, the way she had glared at him, and his heart sinks a little.

“Oi,” says a voice, and Harry turns to see Ginny walking up to them, “you lot need to stop talking about me.” Her eyes are slightly puffy, and when she sits next to Harry, he wraps his arm around her and holds her close.

“Where’s Mum?” she asks quietly.

“She went to Diagon Alley to buy some Floo powder,” Ron says.

“Or so she said, anyway. But she probably wants to go to cool down. You know what she’s like,” George says. He leans over and ruffles Ginny’s hair, and she pretends to yelp in protest, but has a fond smile on her face.

“She’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” Hermione says.

“I think it’s cool that you tried out,” Ron says, looking oddly sincere. “Do you reckon you’ll try out for the Chudley Cannons, too?”

Ginny pretends to think about it. “Well, I considered it. But then I thought, I want to actually be part of a team that wins a game now and then, so…”

Harry and George burst out laughing, and after a moment, Ginny joins them too, turning to muffle her laughter against his shoulder.

“You’re laughing now, but this year’s going to be our season,” Ron mutters, crossing his arms.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Hermione says, when their laughter fades. She has her reproachful look on, and Harry recognises it all too well.

“Why not? I’ve told you, more than once, that this is what I want to do,” Ginny says. Her smile hasn’t faded off her face, but she’s giving Hermione a look that Harry wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of.

“Yes, but—”

“But what? You hoped I’d reconsider?” Ginny says.

“It’s just… I mean, I know we’ve talked about it, but I just want to make sure you’re _sure _about it all,” Hermione says. She’s voiced her doubts to Harry before, in her letters from Hogwarts and whenever they meet. _I just don’t know if she’s chosen a secure career option. Harry, do you really think she’s sure about it all? _Harry would defend her now, as he usually does, but he knows Ginny’s more than capable of taking care of it herself. The earlier showdown with Mrs. Weasley proved that, at any rate.

Ginny lets out a sigh. “Merlin’s sake, Hermione. All of us were nearly murdered by Death Eaters or Voldemort last year. We’ve been through all this, and somehow it’s the most scandalous thing in the world that I tried out for a Quidditch team?” she demands.

“Well,” George says, “I don’t know, Gin. I think Fred would’ve thought it was pretty cool. And so do I, for the record,” he adds.

“Thank you,” Ginny says softly.

“Although I’m still not happy about you gallivanting to Wales with Harry. What are you doing to guard the virtue of my young sister?” George asks Harry.

Harry groans, but he’s happy to have the tension broken. “She’s the one sneaking us off. If anything, you have to worry about my virtue,” he says.

“He has a point, Ginny. You’re the bad influence here,” George tells Ginny proudly.

“I know,” Ginny says without skipping a beat, and leans up to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek. George and Ron groan loudly, but Hermione gives him a smile.

“Now that you’re here, I can show you all the revision timetable I’ve made,” she says. “Harry, Ron, since you’re technically working, too, yours is a bit more time-consuming, but I think you’ll find it helpful, really.”

“Fine,” Ron grumbles.

“Alright, alright. But if I agree to revise now, you can’t tell me off later about sneaking off to try out,” Ginny says.

“Deal,” Hermione says. 

“Do you think your mum will still be angry when she gets back?” Harry asks Ron and George softly.

“I don’t know. But she’ll get over it, I reckon. It’ll be alright,” Ron says.

Harry glances at Ginny. She’s talking to Hermione, and her eyes are bright and animated. The sun’s bringing out copper streaks in her hair, and he thinks she’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. She turns to look at him, then, and raises an eyebrow.

“What are you looking at, Potter?” she asks with a teasing smile.

“Nothing,” Harry says. He reckons Ron’s right, and things will be just fine.


	14. xiv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, and i hope everyone's safe!

“So,” says George, “I take it things are still awkward at home?”

Ginny brushes the ash from off herself as she steps out of George’s fireplace. He’s sitting at a small desk in the living room, poring over a scroll of parchment.

“What makes you say that?” she says defiantly, going to sit on the sofa. There’s an old jumper strewn carelessly across one of the cushions. Harry’s, she thinks. She lifts it up and tugs it on, only because it’s cold in George’s flat. No other reason at all.

George raises an eyebrow at her.

“Why aren’t you at the shop, anyway?” she asks.

“Verity’s handling it. I’m going over the stock. It’s boring as sin,” George says. “Which is why I’m glad you’re here, so I make fun of you pouting.”

“I’m _not _pouting,” Ginny says.

“You kind of are,” Hermione says. Ginny jumps at the sound of her voice. She hadn’t noticed her Flooing in. “How are you, George?” she adds.

“Bored,” George says, setting the scroll down. “Then again, anything feels boring after yesterday’s scene at home. Have you spoken to Mum, Gin?” he adds.

“No,” Ginny says. “I will soon, though,” she adds, both so that they won’t worry and because she knows it’s inevitable. Her temper’s a bit like her mum’s. It flares up suddenly and goes down as suddenly as that. She and her mum, they’ve never argued for more than a few days about anything. “I haven’t really talked to Dad about it all week, either,” she adds. It’s been a busy week at the Ministry, and what with NEWT prep and his late days, she’s barely seen him.

“You’ve got a very fun encounter in store for you when you get back home, then,” George says.

Ginny groans. “I might just stay here tonight, then,” she grumbles.

“You might have to, actually,” Hermione says, sitting down next to Ginny. She takes out a small beaded bag from the pocket of her jeans and opens it up, setting it down on the table by the sofa. One wave of her wand, and a seemingly endless number of books and scrolls of parchment come flying out and settle down, covering the surface of the table completely. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

George takes one look at the table and then says, “Merlin, I’m glad I didn’t do my NEWTs.” Ginny can’t disagree with him, really. She’s doing far less NEWTs than Hermione is, but it’s still overwhelming. It doesn’t help that the fight with her mother is weighing heavy on her mind. She’s been trying all day but hasn’t been able to study at all. It’s quite annoying.

“When will the others get in?” she asks George, in her best effort at being casual. George’s smirk tells her that her efforts have backfired spectacularly.

“Your brother isn’t good enough for you now, huh? Now all you wanna see is the Chosen One himself?” he teases.

“Fuck off,” Ginny says half-heartedly.

“Are you sure it’s alright if we study here?” Hermione asks.

George gives Hermione a smile. “Course. I invited you, didn’t I? Reckon you all need a place to study if you’re actually going to pass these exams.”

Ginny knows why George invited them over for dinner, and it has nothing to do with studying and more to do with making sure she’s okay after the fight on Monday. Instead of saying that, though, she says, “We’ll pass, thank you very much.”

“Although Transfiguration is _so _much more difficult than I thought it would be,” says Hermione, brow furrowed in worry. “So is Arithmancy. And Ancient Runes. And—”

“Hermione,” Ginny interrupts, “you helped take down Voldemort and stayed on the run for a year. If you don’t pass these exams, no one will.”

“It’d be like Harry not passing his Auror tests,” George puts in.

“We shouldn’t take any chances, though. We can’t take this lightly,” Hermione says.

“Can’t take what lightly?” Ron asks, stepping out of the fireplace. Ginny jumps. She really needs to stop getting so surprised at that.

“The NEWTs, Ron. And your Auror tests, too,” Hermione says, getting to her feet.

Ron looks a little uneasy at her words. “Yeah, Robards was going on about it at work today. Said it’s the first time Aurors have been allowed to take the tests after a year instead of two years, and he doesn’t want us expecting it to be easy.” He takes his cloak off and tosses it onto the sofa, where it narrowly misses Ginny.

Ginny glances at the fireplace, which turns emerald green. She gets to her feet just as Harry steps out, looking exhausted. “Hi,” he mumbles in George’s general direction, but then he looks at Hermione and Ginny, and his face lights up.

“Hi,” Ginny says, making her way over to him. “I heard Robards has been giving you both grief about the tests,” she says.

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. I’m glad to be home, to be honest,” he says.

Ginny reaches up and kisses his cheek. _I’m glad to be with you_, she thinks. But instead she says, “Well, we’d better get to work, then.”

*

By the time Hermione declares that they’re done for the night, Ginny’s exhausted. She’s sprawled out on the floor, leaning against Harry’s legs, and her eyes are burning from how much reading she’s done. Ron and Hermione have snuck off to Ron’s room, and George has disappeared into his own room, muttering something about the prototype for a new kind of Skiving Snackbox. It’s just her and Harry in the living room, and usually, she would take advantage of this to kiss him, but she’s too exhausted to move, she reckons.

“You know,” Harry says, “when I said I wanted to be an Auror, I didn’t think about just how many _tests _there are.” His voice has gotten deeper and slower, the way it does when he’s sleepy.

“Oh, come on, Potter,” Ginny says, tilting her head. “You killed Voldemort. You can handle a couple tests.”

“Technically, he killed himself,” Harry points out, “these tests won’t do themselves, though.”

Ginny laughs, leaning up to grab his hand. She manages to lift herself up, move onto the sofa next to him. He wraps his arm around her, and she finally lets herself close her eyes.

“Tell me about your day,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder. He smells like soap and books. It’s an odd combination, but not one that she’s averse to.

“Tiring,” Harry admits. “It’s going to be a year since most of the trials happened. Did you know that?”

“Don’t think I could forget if I wanted to,” says Ginny dryly.

“Well. Kingsley and Robards have scheduled all of these follow up appointments with everyone who was acquitted or let off with a light sentence. They’re not interrogations, really, but they reckon that if we keep in touch with everyone who’s likely to know what any Death Eaters out there are planning, then we have a better chance of knowing what’s happening,” Harry says.

Ginny forces her eyes open. “So you had to spend the day interrogating arseholes?”

“Not interrogating, but… yeah,” Harry agrees. “I had to go with Robards to speak to the Malfoys today.”

Ginny shudders. “How was it?” she asks. She thinks about everything Harry’s told her and hinted to her about the Malfoys, and how Hermione goes pale whenever anyone talks about Malfoy Manor. “Did you have to go to their house?”

“No, they came to the Ministry. I had to interview Malfoy, and take notes of it,” Harry says. He wrinkles his nose.

“What did he have to say for himself?” Ginny asks.

“Not much,” Harry admits. “He actually said Muggleborn, though. And he seemed to be trying not to sneer.”

“That’s certainly something,” Ginny agrees, bringing a hand up to muffle her sudden yawn.

Harry looks down at her with a small smile. “How’d your day go?” he asks. 

“Well. Mum and I barely said five words to each other,” Ginny says quietly. “And Hermione had me looking at Transfiguration notes all day, so I feel like my brain is broken. I’ll have to go and face the music tomorrow,” she mumbles. “Can’t go on much longer, can it?”

“I’ll come with you tomorrow morning, if you want,” Harry offers. “It’s a Saturday, so no work. I can come face the music with you.”

“I was hoping to just hide here all day, though,” Ginny says. “But yeah, fine. Thank you. It’ll be less awful with you around.”

“Think of it this way,” Harry says, “it’ll be far less awful than spending the day with the Malfoys and having to take notes documenting the entire experience.”

Ginny laughs reluctantly. “You may have a point there,” she agrees, settling back down in Harry’s arms.

*

They decide to Apparate to the Burrow the next morning, since George is running low on Floo Powder and the shops aren’t open yet. George decides to stay in Diagon Alley to work in the shop, and Ron stays back to help him. Hermione stays, too, claiming to want to study there since her notes are already there, but Ginny suspects more so she can have a day alone with him, which she really doesn’t blame her for.

Ginny’s passed the Apparition test, but she’s still nervous every time she has to do it on her own, so she decides to go with Harry. She much prefers flying; it doesn’t make her nauseous every time. She holds Harry’s hand tighter than she’d admit as they Apparate together into the garden, just past the boundaries.

To her surprise, her dad is sitting by his shed, holding his wand and a spanner and gazing at a motorbike Ginny recognises as Sirius’s.

“Hi, Dad,” she calls out, letting go of Harry’s hand so she can make her way over to him.

“Oh, hi, love,” her dad says cheerfully. “Harry, it’s good you’re here. I was just working on Sirius’s bike. Your bike, I should say.”

“Hi, Mr. Weasley,” Harry says, grinning. “How’s the bike?”

“Oh, it’s good,” Dad says, and then starts to say something about exhaust pipes and magical modifications. Ginny sits back on her elbows, enjoying the sun on her face and the familiar sound of her dad’s voice, and tunes out what he’s saying.

“—But what’s this I hear about the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny?” Dad says suddenly, and that has Ginny’s attention.

She sits up, the slight smile on her face fading a little. “I, uh. I tried out for the team on Monday.”

“I gathered as much,” Dad says.

“Mum’s angry about it,” Ginny says.

“She’s not _angry_,” Dad says, but Ginny knows that she is. “She’s just surprised. You’ve always told us about that sort of thing before you did it.”

“I’ve never tried out for a Quidditch team before, Dad,” Ginny says. Harry sits down on the grass next to her, takes her hand. She’s grateful for it, more than she can say, and she gives his hand a little squeeze.

“It is rather a big decision, isn’t it?” Dad says, but his voice is gentle.

“I… I suppose so,” Ginny says. “But I don’t know if I’ll get on the team. I would have talked to you and Mum about it once I found out if I had.”

Dad nods slowly. “Are you serious about this?” he asks her.

“Yeah,” she says and squeezes Harry’s hand again. “Really serious. I want to do it, Dad. And I know I shouldn’t have gone to Holyhead without telling anyone—”

“Except Harry, apparently,” Dad says, with a little twinkle in his eye, and Ginny doesn’t have to look at Harry to know he has his sheepish expression on.

“Except Harry. I wanted moral support,” Ginny mumbles.

“I suppose I understand that. You know,” Dad says, “if you’d have told us, I would have come, too.” He has a small smile on his face, and it feels as if a weight is lifted off her chest, knowing that her dad isn’t upset with her about this.

“Really?” Ginny says.

“I’ve never seen you play at Hogwarts before. I’d very much have liked to watch the try outs,” Dad says.

“I wasn’t allowed to see the try outs,” Harry puts in, “I had to wait in a Muggle pub for her.”

“A _Muggle _pub, did you say?” Dad asks, his entire face lighting up. “You must tell me all about that while I finish up here. Ginny, why don’t you go in and speak to your mother?” he adds, and the way he looks at her lets her know that there’s no real point arguing.

Ginny gets up and brushes the grass off herself. Harry gives her a look, an _are you sure you’re okay _look, and she nods in response. “Alright,” she agrees. “I’ll go talk to Mum. You can tell Dad all about the Muggle pub, Harry,” she says with a little smile, and then turns in the direction of the house. Time to go face the music, then.


	15. xv

The first thing Mum says when Ginny walks in through the garden door is, “Do you want a cup of tea, dear?”

Ginny’s confused. She might have thought that Mum’s confused her with her dad, but she’s looking right at her. Mum’s eyebrows are furrowed, and there’s a slight purse to her lips, but Ginny decides to take her words at face value.

“Yes, please,” she says, and sits down at the table. Mum sits down next to her, and waves her wand. Two cups of tea fly to the table, followed by a teapot, a tiny jug of milk, and an old sugar bowl.

They both fix their tea silently. Ginny thinks about a year ago, when they moved to Aunt Muriel’s house during the war, during the Easter holidays. Aunt Muriel’s a late riser always has been, and she and her mum had been too anxious to sleep much. It had always been her and her mum, over a cup of tea in the early dawn. Sometimes they’d watch the sun rise in Aunt Muriel’s garden together in silence, both of them doing their best not to worry – or, rather, not to voice the multitude of worries she was sure they’d both been feeling.

“So,” Ginny says, and takes a sip of her too-hot tea. “We should probably… talk about it. Right?”

“I forget sometimes,” Mum says, apropos of nothing, “that you’ve grown up. That I don’t have to worry about you all the time.”

Ginny shrugs, looks down at her cup. “I don’t want you to stop worrying,” she says, and then looks up, giving her mother a little smile. “If you didn’t worry about me, Bellatrix Lestrange might still be alive,” she says.

“Don’t _say _things like that,” Mum says, but there’s a hint of a pleased smile on her face.

“It’s true, though,” Ginny says.

Mum’s smile grown into a proper one for a moment, and then fades. Ginny knows, without her mum having to say it, that bringing up Bellatrix has reminded her of the final battle. And there’s no thinking about the battle without thinking about Fred. She knows that her mum’s thinking about him, because she is, too.

“I was worried,” Mum says quietly. “When Andromeda came home and I realised that I didn’t know where you or Harry were. I can’t lose another child.” She’s not crying, but her eyes are bright, and Ginny knows that tears are only a few moments away.

“I’m sorry, Mum. I would have told you, really,” Ginny says, quickly, to try and ward away the tears. “But… I mean. There’s no point telling you unless I get on the team, is there? I didn’t do it to worry you, I just thought… I thought that I’d wait until I heard about the results, and then we could argue about it then. Suppose I was just trying to postpone the fight, you know?”

Mum takes a deep breath, and then a sip of her tea. “I suppose… that there’s a chance I overreacted,” she says.

Ginny doesn’t know if her mother has ever uttered those words in her life. She knows she’ll never get a victory like this again, and she vows not to take this one for granted.

“I think I did, too,” she admits.

Mum looks up at Ginny; she’s smiling again, even though she still looks on the verge of tears. “I imagine that F-Fred would have found it amusing. You, sneaking off to try out for a Quidditch team.”

Ginny blinks rapidly. “I think he would have,” she says, and then adds, “Actually, I think he might’ve gotten a bit upset I didn’t involve him in the plan and give him the chance to test out one of his and George’s newest inventions as a distraction tactic or something.”

Mum laughs, and even though it sounds watery, Ginny joins in. 

*

That evening, almost everyone in the family comes to dinner. Hermione, Ron, and George join Ginny, Harry, and her parents. Bill and Fleur don’t come, since Fleur is apparently pregnant enough that it’s hard to Apparate or travel by Floo too much, and Percy’s tied up with some Ministry work in London, but the rest of them sit at the table and eat together.

Ginny doesn’t know if she imagines it, but everyone seems happier, brighter somehow. She assumes it’s because of their relief that she and her mum are back on good terms. She enjoys it, too. She’s pleasantly full, she actually managed to get some studying done today with Harry, and she got in a fly before dinner. 

“Do you realise,” Ron says, helping himself to a third serving of dessert, “that this is the last weekend before you both have to go back to school?”

“I did, funnily enough,” Ginny says.

“It’s not just them. We have to go back, too,” Harry says absentmindedly around a mouthful of treacle tart.

Ginny whips her head around to look at Harry. “What?” she demands. From the corner of her eye, she sees Hermione and her mum looking shocked, too.

“Robards told me yesterday,” Harry says, looking uncomfortable under everyone’s scrutiny. “We’ve got to take our NEWTs, and they’re arranging for us and the others to take our Auror tests at Hogwarts, too, so we won’t have to go back and forth. Did I not mention it?”

“No, you bloody well didn’t,” Ron says.

“So you’re coming back with us?” Hermione demands.

“Wait. What?” Ginny says again.

“I really thought I had told you. Weren’t you there for the team meeting on Friday morning?” Harry asks Ron.

Ron shakes his head. “No, mate, Neville and me were shadowing Proudfoot, remember?”

“Oh, right, yeah. Robards will probably write to you, then,” Harry says.

“So you’re coming back to school with us on Monday?” Ginny asks. She can hardly believe it. It sounds almost too good to be true. When Harry nods, she can’t stop herself from leaning in and kissing him.

“Alright, alright,” her dad says, but he’s smiling when she pulls away.

“You’ll have to make sure you’re packed, then,” Mum says.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Hermione says.

“Or _me_, for Merlin’s sake,” Ron says.

Ginny slips her hand into Harry’s. She can’t believe he’s coming back with her. Things are looking up.

After dessert, once Mum and Dad retire for the night, they go out into the garden. It’s a cold night, but George conjures up a blanket for them, and then Summons some Firewhiskey and glasses, so Ginny can’t say she has any objections.

“So, you’re going back, then?” George says, sitting down on the blanket. “Leaving the flat to go back to school?”

Harry and Ron exchange a look that Ginny doesn’t quite understand. “We’ll be back after a bit. It’s only a few weeks,” Ron says.

Ginny understands then. They’re worried about George feeling lonely. Ginny can’t blame them, really.

“Actually,” George says slowly, “I’ve been thinking.”

“That never ends well, when you say that,” Ginny says, thinking back to when she was fourteen or so, and Fred and George, after swearing her to secrecy, had showed her the first ever prototype for the Skiving Snackbox.

George laughs, wraps his arm around her shoulder and ruffles her hair.

“Get off,” she grumbles, but doesn’t pull away.

“What’ve you been thinking, George?” Hermione asks, an earnest effort to bring them back on topic.

“Well,” George says, looking shyer than Ginny’s ever seen him. “Angelina and I were talking, and she’s been staying with her parents, but it’s quite far from London, you know…”

Ginny looks up, meets Hermione’s eyes. Hermione looks just as delighted as she feels.

“What are you on about?” Ron demands.

“Angelina’s going to move in,” George says, all at once. His cheeks are rather pink, Ginny notices. “Into the flat, I mean. With us.”

“You and Angelina are moving in together!?” Ron demands. He gets to his feet in his enthusiasm, and thumps George on the back, narrowly avoiding Ginny’s arm.

“This is incredible,” Ginny declares.

“Oh, George, that’s great!” Hermione says.

“Alright, alright,” George says. “Just don’t tell Mum and Dad, they don’t even know I’m seeing her just yet.”

“Don’t keep it from Mum and Dad for too long, though,” Ron advises, “wouldn’t want a huge fight, would you?”

“No, that’s more Ginny’s area with Mum than mine,” George says.

“Fuck off,” Ginny says sweetly.

“This doesn’t mean you both _have _to move out,” George tells Ron and Harry. “But you know. If you wanted to, I wouldn’t object.”

Harry turns, looks right at Ginny. She wonders if they’re thinking the same thing, about the whispered plans they made in the dark, when it was just the two of them. He gives her a small smile, and she knows they’re on the same page. It seems like things are falling into place.

*

It’s the best feeling in the world, Harry and Ron coming back to Hogwarts with them. Hermione’s as happy about it as she is, happy enough that she doesn’t even seem as stressed by the upcoming exams as she usually would be. Ron’s happy to be around her, too, and Ginny starts to get a little tired of walking into the common room to see Ron and Hermione in a corner, snogging as if their life depends on it.

Not that she’s one to talk, really. The NEWTs are in a little more than a couple of weeks but, more often than not, Ginny finds herself with Harry, seeking out quiet spots where they won’t be interrupted. They don’t usually get around to revising as much as they should, despite their best efforts; they find themselves distracted most of the time. After a year spent mostly away from each other, getting to be back at school with him feels like a luxury, despite the stress that the NEWTs bring with them.

The Friday after they get back to school, Ginny goes to the Gryffindor table, hair windblown from her early morning fly. Harry’s sitting in between Seamus and Neville, and she sits down opposite them.

“Hey,” she says cheerfully. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

“Hermione managed to drag Ron to the library with her,” Harry says, and passes her a plate of bacon. She really does love him.

“I can’t believe he agreed to that,” Ginny says.

“I don’t know, I think I’m going to go to the library, too,” Neville says, shaking his head. “What with NEWTs and Auror training, I don’t think I’ve ever been this worried.”

Harry pats Neville’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he promises.

“You can come study with me and Dean,” Seamus offers. “We’re going to the library, too.”

Neville nods. “Yeah, alright. Will you both come?” he asks Harry and Ginny.

“Nah, they’ll probably just go snog instead,” Seamus scoffs.

“Oi,” Ginny says. “Actually, I was thinking of going to revise by the lake. It’d be a shame to waste a good day.”

A small smirk plays around the corner of Harry’s mouth. He’s probably thinking of everything they got up to by the lake yesterday.

“Come on. We should get going,” she adds, getting to her feet and holding her bacon sandwich. “I’ll finish this on the way.”

Ignoring the teasing looks of Neville and Seamus, Ginny gets up. Harry follows her out, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they leave the Great Hall.

“You know,” he says, “it’s kind of odd, being back here.”

Ginny looks up at him. His face visibly relaxes when they leave the castle, once they’re outdoors.

“Yeah?” she says.

“Yeah. Brings back a lot of memories,” he says.

Ginny knows what he’s talking about. There’s a corridor that she hasn’t been able to walk through all year, because stepping into it makes her remember the time Amycus Carrow stopped her on the way back to Gryffindor tower by hitting her with the Cruciatus until her legs were shaking. She can’t go for longer than a few days before being accosted by a memory of Fred. Sometimes she shivers when she walks by Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, thinking about the Chamber of Secrets. Walking by the Astronomy Tower makes her think of Dumbledore, of seeing Harry after Dumbledore’s death. Hogwarts is her home, and she’ll always love it just as much as she loves the Burrow, but she’s accumulated enough bad memories there to last a lifetime, she reckons. All of them have.

“I know what you mean,” is all she says. By the time they walk to the beech tree by the Great Lake, she’s finished her sandwich. It’s sunny outside, the kind of weather that she knows will make it impossible to pay attention to revision all day. 

Before either of them can Summon their books, though, they’re interrupted by Luna walking up to them.

“Hi, Ginny. Hi, Harry. It is rather nice seeing you around the castle again,” she greets them.

“Hi,” Ginny says, unable to hold back her smile.

“It’s nice seeing you too, Luna,” Harry says. “Do you want to sit down with us?”

“Oh, no thank you. I think you both would rather be alone as a couple, wouldn’t you?” Luna says, in her astute way. “I’m only here because you missed the post at breakfast, and letters came for the both of you. Neville gave them to me to give you.” She hands Harry two or three letters, and then gives them another beaming smile before she walks back towards the castle.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” Ginny says. “What do we have, then?”

“A letter from Robards,” Harry says, rolling his eyes and setting that aside without another glance. “And then it’s—Gin, I think this is for you.” His voice has suddenly gotten serious, and Ginny takes the letter from him.

It’s an official-looking letter. On the front, it says _Ginevra Weasley, Hogwarts Castle_. She flips it over and is greeted by the official emblem of the Holyhead Harpies.

“Oh,” she whispers, suddenly feeling as if all the air has left her lungs. “Is this… Merlin…” Her hands shake as she goes to open it, and then she shakes her head, dropping the letter back into her lap. “No. No, I can’t do this,” she decides. “It’s too much. Fuck. I can’t do it.”

“Come on,” Harry says, and wraps his arm back around her. “You can do it. We’ll deal with it, no matter what it is. Open it,” he urges.

Ginny wonders if she looks as terrified as she feels. This is it. The moment she finds out if she’s on the team or not. If all of this was worth it. Still trembling, she picks the letter up, and takes a deep breath before she opens it up. It’s time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... oops. sorry about the tiny cliffhanger! we're nearing the end of this fic, folks. not much longer at all! i hope you enjoyed this chapter- if you did, please leave a comment, because i read them all and appreciate them all so much <3


	16. xvi.

The first thing she thinks when she opens up the sealed envelope is  _ this is going to change everything _ . Which is very dramatic, but not exactly inaccurate. She can’t seem to get the parchment out of the envelope, despite her best efforts; her hands are shaking, and she thinks maybe she’s forgotten how to use them.

“Do you want me to open it for you?” Harry asks. He sounds amused.

Ginny can’t bring herself to speak, not really, but she nods and hands him the envelope.

Harry takes the parchment out of the letter, and then offers it to Ginny to unfold. She shakes her head mutely. “You do it,” she decides. “Just—tell me what it says.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees.

Ginny closes her eyes as he opens it up, forces herself to take a deep breath.

“Gin,” Harry says after a second.

She opens her eyes and looks at him. He looks almost wild in his happiness.

“What does it say?” she asks tentatively.

“You did it,” he tells her quietly. “You’re on the team.”

Ginny whoops, and then throws herself into his arms. For once, she doesn’t care who hears her, who’s listening, if anyone can see them. She doesn’t care about anything at all.

“I’m on the team?” she squeals, wrapping her arms around his neck. She feels his arms go around her waist. She buries her face in his shoulder, allows herself to let out a small sob. She doesn’t know why she’s crying. She’s just so  _ happy _ , so fucking happy that she can’t believe it. This has been her dream for as long as she remembers, and it’s happening now. It’s all happening.

“I’m so proud of you,” Harry says quietly. His hand rests on her back, holding her close, and she feels like she could drift away in her happiness. Nothing feels real, nothing except him and his hold on her.

“I love you,” she tells him when she pulls back, wiping her eyes.

“I know,” Harry says, “I love you too. That’s nothing to cry about, though,” he teases.

“Shut up, Potter,” she says on instinct.

“Suppose you don’t have to worry too much about studying for the NEWTs, now, do you? Ginny Weasley, chaser for the Holyhead Harpies,” Harry says.

Ginny laughs at that. “Merlin. I can’t believe it,” she says, quieter than before.

“I can,” Harry says. He’s looking at her with the kind of intensity and seriousness that makes her cheeks feel a bit warm. “I always knew you’d get in. I told you.”

“You did tell me,” she agrees.

“You deserve this,” he tells her. He brings his hand up, strokes her hair off her face in a tender gesture that makes her feel even more emotional.

She doesn’t know what to say. Her heart feels full with the kind of joy that, if you would have asked her a year ago, she would’ve said wasn’t possible to feel anymore. She looks up at Harry, and he looks at her in the way that he has, the way that makes her feel like he knows just what’s on her mind without her having to say it.

“I’m going to be on the team,” she says, and her voice sounds odd to her own ears. Choked up.

“You are,” Harry agrees.

And then, without thinking about what she’s doing, without really thinking at all, she’s leaning up and kissing him, letting her eyes fall shut. He kisses her back, with just as much enthusiasm as she, and then she finds it quite difficult to think about anything else at all.

*

That evening, she makes her way through the castle, towards Gryffindor Tower. Harry’s gone to join Ron and Neville and Padma for Auror test revision, and Hermione’s in the library, so she’s decided to go back to the common room. She needs to study, of course, but she also needs to figure out how she can tell everyone her news.

“Just come out with it and tell them,” Harry had said, earlier, when they were walking back to lunch. “They’ll be happy for you, Gin.”

That’s all well and good, but she’s spent so long working towards getting on the team, and hoping for it, and doing everything in her power to achieve it, that she hasn’t actually thought about what she’ll do after it happens. She feels almost like she did when they won the House Cup just before the Easter holidays; happy, but also oddly nervous about what comes next.

“Miss Weasley?”

Her thoughts are interrupted by a stern voice. She jumps a little and turns to look in the direction of it. Professor McGonagall’s standing at the base of a staircase that Ginny knows from experience leads to the Headmaster’s office – or, rather, the Headmistress’ office now.

“Hi, Professor. You scared me,” she admits.

McGonagall’s face softens at that, and she gives Ginny a smile. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you,” she says.

“Of course,” Ginny says, and follows McGonagall up the staircase. She’s still preoccupied by everything, so she can’t help it when her words slip out. “It’s still weird that Dumbledore isn’t here, isn’t it?” she muses, and then regrets her words immediately.

To her surprise, McGonagall turns and offers her another smile before she goes to sit behind her desk. “I often find myself thinking that, too,” she says. “Have a seat, Miss Weasley.”

Behind McGonagall’s chair, Dumbledore’s portrait self is fast asleep. Ginny sits down, trying not to look at Dumbledore too closely. She can’t always prevent the rush of memories that sometimes accosts her, and she’s determined to try and put it off today.

“Have a biscuit,” McGonagall says, pushing a tin towards her.

Ginny takes a biscuit out, takes a bite of it, and then says, “Is this a new flavour, Professor?”

McGonagall looks amused. “Indeed,” she says, “Chocolate biscuits from Honeydukes. A Christmas present from Madam Rosmerta.”

“I like them,” Ginny offers, helping herself to another.

“I’m glad you do, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall says. “But that isn’t why I wanted to speak with you.”

Ginny nods, swallows her mouthful of biscuits. “Is everything alright, Professor?” she asks, suddenly worried. What if something’s wrong with her family? Harry and Ron and Hermione are here with her, at Hogwarts, but what if something happened to her mum, or her dad’s injured again, or something happened with Bill and the baby…

“Yes, of course,” McGonagall says. Ginny wonders if her instinctive response whenever anyone wants to talk to her will ever stop being panic and fear. “However,” McGonagall continues, “I received a letter this morning.”

Ginny waits, leans forwards in her seat. McGonagall really does know how to build up the suspense, doesn’t she? “From who, Professor?” she asks, trying very hard not to be impatient.

“From Gwenog Jones,” McGonagall says. “She wrote to inform me that letters with the outcome of who made it to the team had been mailed out.”

“Oh,” Ginny says.

“Now, I do not know if you have received yours yet,” McGonagall says.

“I have,” Ginny says. She can feel a smile spread onto her face. She takes the letter out, from the inner pocket of her robes, and passes it to McGonagall. Apart from Harry, McGonagall’s the first person she actually spoke to about this, the first person to tell her about the try-outs. She deserves to know.

McGonagall unfolds the parchment and reads it. Her eyes widen behind her square spectacles, and when she glances back up at Ginny, she seems to be tearing up a little. If Ginny hadn’t been seeing this with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it.

“I believe then, Miss Weasley, that congratulations are in order,” she says. She sounds choked up. “I am… I am very proud of you.”

Ginny beams at McGonagall and gets to her feet. She wonders if she should ask first, but then doesn’t think about it anymore before she’s making her way to McGonagall’s side of the desk and wrapping her arms around her in a hug. “Thanks, Professor,” she says quietly. She’s thanking her for more than the congratulations, and she hopes it comes across, because she doesn’t know how to say it in any other way.

McGonagall pats her back clumsily and when Ginny pulls back from the hug, she sees a tear leak down her cheek. McGonagall wipes it away quickly, and then says, “This doesn’t mean that you can get away with getting any less than an Outstanding in your Transfiguration NEWT, Miss Weasley.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Professor,” Ginny tells McGonagall, grinning.

“Very well, then,” McGonagall says. “I won’t keep you from your celebrations any longer. I am sure that your friends have planned something.” Her eyes are twinkling in a way that reminds Ginny of Dumbledore, oddly enough.

“I haven’t actually told them yet,” Ginny admits. “I mean, I’ve told Harry, but not the others.”

“I would suggest that you do so, Ginny,” McGonagall says gently. “After all, it has not been quite long enough that we’ve forgotten the value of good news.”

*

When she gets back to the common room much later, she spots Harry and Ron immediately, sitting with Hermione by the fireplace. Luna’s there, too, holding a cup of something.

Ginny smiles, and makes her way over to them. “Hi,” she says cheerfully, sitting herself down next to Luna, on the floor by the fireplace. It’s warm and cosy. 

Harry looks up at Ginny and gives her a small smile. Ron waves a hand in greeting.

“Where have you been?” Hermione asks. “I thought you’d be out by the Lake, but I couldn’t find you.”

“I was talking to McGonagall,” Ginny says. “And then I went for a walk outside. Needed a bit of fresh air.”

“More fresh air? Haven’t you been out with Harry all day?” Ron says.

“Talking to McGonagall about what? Is it something about the Transfiguration NEWT?” Hermione asks, looking worried.

“I expect we’d all know if it was,” Luna says, surprisingly logical. “Would you like some hot chocolate, Ginny?” she adds, offering her mug to Ginny.

“Yes, please,” Ginny says, taking the mug and having a sip of it. “It wasn’t about the NEWT, Hermione,” she adds.

“What was it, then?” Hermione says. Her eyes are narrowed in the way that they get when trying to solve a particularly intricate puzzle.

“Well, I imagine she wanted to give McGonagall the good news,” Luna says.

Harry and Ginny both turn to look at Luna, and Ginny raises her eyebrows. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised that Luna’s figured it out. She was the one who gave them the envelope this morning, after all. It isn’t that much of a stretch that she’s worked out what the letter was about, what with the Harpies seal on the back. Ginny forgets, sometimes, that Luna’s smarter than most people.

“The good news?” Ron repeats, looking more confused than ever.

“Tell them, Gin,” Harry urges. His eyes are bright, happy the way they’d been when he opened the letter for her.

“Wait. So you know what it is?” Ron demands.

“Of course he does,” Hermione says.

“Not like I’m your brother or something,” Ron grumbles.

“Ron, you know it’s different, they—” Hermione starts to say.

Ginny interrupts. She has to, or this can go on all day. “I got on the Harpies. I’m on the team. Chaser for the Harpies, starting this August,” she says.

Hermione stops abruptly and gasps. Ron’s eyes go wide. Harry’s grinning widely. Only Luna looks tranquil and unsurprised, but she’s smiling, too.

Ron lunges out of his armchair, throws his arm around her in a hug that suddenly makes it hard to breathe. “You got on the team!” he whoops.

“Ron!” Ginny protests, but she’s laughing even as Ron lets her go.

“Oh,  _ Ginny _ , this is great!” Hermione, for all her earlier protests, looks just as happy as the others.

“It’s very good news,” Luna agrees.

“How did you not tell us all day?” Ron demands from Harry.

“It’s not my news,” Harry protests.

“You’re going to be on the team,” Ron says, still looking shell-shocked and pleased. “Wait. So that means you’ll play against the Cannons now? Who am I meant to support?”

Ginny looks at Ron, unimpressed, but then joins in with Harry’s laughter, feeling a wave of fondness engulf her. Sitting here, surrounded by her brother, boyfriend, and best friends, she feels like she can take on the world, like anything is possible. She turns to look at Harry, and ignores Ron’s groan as she leans in and kiss him.

“Think you’re ready to move to Holyhead with me, Potter?” she asks him, quiet enough so just he can hear. They’ve talked about this before, but it all feels real now, in a way that it didn’t before. It occurs to her that the future,  _ her  _ future, is a matter of a few months away, and not some distant point in the blurry horizon.

“I reckon so, yeah,” Harry whispers back, giving her a secret little smile before pulling away.

She returns his smile with one of her own, and pulls back, leaning into his side as she joins in the others’ conversation again, happier than she can remember being in a long time.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just realised that, for the timelines to make sense, victoire should've been born two years after the battle and not one year! oops. i guess that makes this fic ever so slightly canon non-compliant, since fleur is very much pregnant here. if anyone has any ideas on how i can fix this, let me know in the comments or over on tumblr, please!
> 
> also, i hoped you enjoy the chapter, and have a good sunday! :)


	17. xvii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're finally at the end! thank you all for reading this far, and i hope you enjoyed the fic, and you enjoy the ending! there'll definitely be more fic, and maybe even something else in this universe, so keep up with me on tumblr (lazyweekendmornings) if you'd like to stay tuned! xx

On the first morning of May, Ginny wakes up with a start.

It takes her a moment. The sun’s streaming in through the window in the dorm, making the wooden floorboards light up in golden patches, and she doesn’t see any of it.

She’s the only one awake, she realises. She sits up in her four-poster bed, tries to steady her breathing. She can hear the noises of steady breathing, an occasional snuffle: everyone’s fast asleep.

She’s looking at the wall opposite her, but she doesn’t take any of it in. Not really. Her dream is still playing in her mind: bright lights, flashes of green, Fred in the Entrance Hall, lying down perfectly still as if he could be asleep. Which he is, in a way. Asleep, never to wake up again. The nightmare fades, but that’s the reality of it. And that’s not going to fade anytime soon.

It’ll be a year tomorrow.

A year without Fred. A year with six Weasleys instead of seven.

She stands up. Starts to get dressed on autopilot. Once she’s dressed, she doesn’t think about where she’s doing until she’s out of the dorm, on the staircase.

She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she knows she’s going somewhere. She has to go somewhere. She can’t be indoors anymore. The walls are closing in on her. She has to get out.

“Hey.”

She jumps at the sound. She’d expected the common room to be completely empty, given that it’s still relatively early.

She isn’t surprised, though, when she turns in the direction of the voice and sees Harry, slumped in one of the armchairs by the fire, glasses down on his nose. On the small sofa, Ron’s lying down, snoring gently with a textbook lying open on his chest.

“Fell asleep revising?” she asks Harry.

He looks absolutely exhausted, but his eyes are bright as he smiles at her, the way he always does. He gets to his feet, pushing his glasses up his nose and brushing some spare parchment off his robes, and walks over to her.

“Yeah. Because we spent all day practicing our Defensive spells, we thought we’d study in the night,” Harry says after a yawn and then, seeming to notice her expression, adds, “You alright?”

Ginny shrugs. “Bad dreams,” she says.

Harry doesn’t ask her anything else. He doesn’t need to. They’ve both grown used to nightmares, the last few years. When she wakes up next to Harry, more often than not he has that slightly pale look on his face that she associates with nightmares. She supposes it’s the same for him with her.

“It’s going to be a year, tomorrow,” she adds, letting herself rest her head against his shoulder.

Instead of saying anything, Harry slips his hand into hers. “Want a game of Quidditch?” he suggests.

Ginny thinks _I fucking love you_. She thinks _I don’t know how you always know what I want, but you always do, and I love you. _She says, “Yeah, alright.” She feels herself start to relax a little as they begin walking towards the portrait hole. There’s something about the outdoors, about the prospect of feeling the sun on her skin, of being alone with Harry in the early morning, that makes her heart rate slow back down to a normal pace.

“Did you ever think it’d be like this?” she asks him, once they’re out of the common room, walking down the corridor. Ginny could walk these paths in her sleep. It’s strange to think that soon she won’t be, soon she’ll be out of Hogwarts for good.

“Like what?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know. You and me. Back in Hogwarts, sneaking out, like how it was a few years ago. Except everything’s different now, isn’t it? It’s not the same at all,” Ginny says, and she can’t suppress the heavy sigh that leaves her. “I can’t stop thinking about Fred,” she adds, very quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry says, “I know. I keep thinking about Remus.”

Ginny turns to look at him. His face is shadowed, and his gaze is cast downward. She gives his hand a squeeze, waits for him to keep talking.

“And Tonks. I haven’t seen Teddy since we came back to Hogwarts, but I can’t stop thinking about him. And Dobby. And Colin Creevey… And Fred, fuck… all of them. I don’t want all of this to have been for nothing,” Harry says. “And if I hadn’t…” he trails off, but Ginny recognises the tell-tale signs of Harry starting to blame himself. Hermione likes to talk about Harry’s Saving People thing, but Ginny’s far more wary of Harry’s self-blame spirals.

Ginny wonders about that, sometimes. She understands, theoretically, that Fred didn’t die _for _anybody, that he knew the risks of fighting, just as they all did. But sometimes she thinks _if I wasn’t so keen to get to Hogwarts, would he have stayed with me? Would he have stayed safe? _She hates herself for the thought. She’s never liked the idea of being a coward. But, Merlin, sometimes she thinks about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t fought, if none of them did.

She never thinks it too often. She knows that she wouldn’t have thought of staying back, not for a second. And it’s the same for Fred. When she thinks about Harry and the others fighting without her, it feels wrong. And she _knows _that Fred would’ve thought the same.

Neither of them says anything as they step outside. Without another word, Ginny starts to lead them to the Black Lake, instead of the Quidditch Pitch.

“Thought we were going to have a fly,” says Harry.

“I dunno. Changed my mind,” Ginny says. She doesn’t feel like flying. She flies when she wants to concentrate on something other than how she’s feeling, when she wants to focus on her grip on the broomstick and the feeling of the wind in her hair. She doesn’t feel up to it, though. Not today.

It’s a sunny day, even though the sun hasn’t been up for long. She sits down beneath the beech tree, cross-legged, and, after a moment, Harry sits down behind her. When she turns to look up at him, she sees the early morning sun glinting off his hair, making his dark skin seem almost golden. His brow is furrowed in worry, but he wraps his arms around her as always, and she leans back against him, resting her head back against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

“I don’t think it was all for nothing,” she says after a moment.

Harry brings his hand up to her shoulder. His thumb traces over the scar on her shoulder over her robes, and she shivers. “Yeah?” he asks.

She nods. “We’re safe now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Harry says again. She hears him sigh, and then he tugs her a bit closer to his chest.

“Tonks and Lupin and… and Fred,” she says, and the name hurts to say, even after all this time, “they all knew what they were doing. They were prepared. I… you and me and were prepared, too. We knew the risks. We could have died. You _did_ die,” she adds.

“Only for a bit, though,” Harry says.

Ginny has to open her eyes so she can roll them. “Yes, but you know what I mean,” she says, turning to give him an impatient look.

After a moment, Harry nods. “I do, yeah.”

“I just don’t want to forget him,” she says. “I don’t want to forget any of them.”

“We won’t,” Harry says, just as quiet as her voice.

She settles back against him, closes her eyes again. The nightmares hurt, and she’s sadder than she can express some days. But she supposes it’s better than the alternative. He went down fighting, they all did.

He brings his hand up, starts to play with her hair. She loses track of time, and she thinks maybe she’s about to drift into a light doze now, against his shoulder, in the warmth of the morning sun.

“Ginny! Harry!”

She jumps at the sudden noise, opening her eyes. Behind her, she feels the motion of Harry getting his wand out, but the both of them relax when they see it’s only Ron. Ron looks frantic, though. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair is windblown, as if he’s run all the way down to the lake from the castle.

“What is it?” Ginny asks, sitting up.

“Is something wrong?” Harry puts in.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Ron says, panting a little. “It’s Bill. And Fleur. They just sent us an owl. They’re in St. Mungo’s. We’ve got to go! The baby’s coming.”

*

Despite their excitement, waiting for a baby to be born feels a lot like waiting for any other thing.

It’s been hours. Everyone in the family’s here, except for Charlie, who’s sent word that he’ll be here next week. They’ve had lunch and now dinner at the little tea shop in St. Mungo, and now it’s late enough that Ginny has to force her eyes open.

“Maybe something’s wrong, if it’s taking this long,” Ron says.

George waves his wand lazily, and the napkin he’d used with dinner a few hours ago flies towards Ron and hits him in the face. “Maybe the baby will turn out purple, or something.”

“That makes no sense, George,” Percy says, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair.

George shrugs. “It’d be funny to see a purple baby, though.”

Ginny thinks about her fourth year, waiting in Grimmauld Place to hear about her father. This is probably the opposite of that, but it feels familiar enough that it gets her on edge.

“Or an orange baby,” she puts in. “Since they’ll probably have Weasley hair, it’d be fun if the baby had orange hair to match.”

“Or a yellow baby, if the baby has Fleur’s hair,” Harry says.

“That’s not yellow,” Ron says. “More like… silvery, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees.

Ginny turns to glare at Harry. “Spend a lot of time looking at Fleur’s hair, do you?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Harry, unfazed. “It’s all I do. I go kill a Dark Lord and then stare at Fleur Delacour’s hair. It’s my favourite pastime.”

Ginny laughs despite herself, and then leans her head onto his shoulder. It’s just them outside, her and Harry and George and Percy and Ron and Hermione; her parents are inside the room with Bill and Fleur, only emerging for updates every so often.

“It’s almost midnight, you know,” Hermione says, speaking up for the first time in a bit. Ginny had assumed she’d fallen asleep.

“So it means the baby will be born… tomorrow?” Ginny asks. Maybe there’s a better way to phrase that, but she’s delirious with exhaustion.

“I think it means it’s already almost tomorrow, Gin,” Harry says.

George makes a face. “Listen to you both. _Gin_. Makes me sick.”

“All of you call me Gin, idiot,” Ginny says.

“Still,” George says. “The point stands.”

“Besides,” Ginny adds, “have you ever heard Ron call Hermione _baby_?”

The tip of Ron’s ears go red. “Why bring me into it?” he demands.

“Well, no one brought you up and I thought _someone _should—”

“Stop arguing,” Percy scolds, but it sounds half-hearted. “Maybe something is wrong, if it’s taking so long,” he adds.

“Nothing’s wrong. This sort of thing takes time,” Hermione puts in. “It takes hours. Sometimes it even takes longer than a day. My mum said when she had me, it took about sixteen hours, start to finish…”

She goes on talking, and Ginny rests her head back down on Harry’s shoulder, letting the sounds of everyone talking around her lull her to sleep. Just a small nap. It won’t hurt, right? She’s been awake for what feels like years…

What feels like two seconds later, there’s a loud thump that shocks her back awake. “Mmph?” she mumbles. Forcing her eyes open, she sees her dad, looking slightly manic. George is on the ground, which she thinks accounts for the noise.

“What is it?” she asks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “What time is it?” she adds, leaning over to peer at the watch on Harry’s wrist.

“It’s time,” Percy says, and Ginny thinks it’s nonsensical, until she realises.

“The baby’s here?” she whispers.

“The baby’s here,” Dad confirms, and holds his hand out to her. Ginny gets to her feet, taking her dad’s hand and letting him lead her and the others into the room.

At two am on the second morning of May, Ginny’s ushered into a tiny room to meet her niece.

The first thing Ginny notices is how very small she is. She’s tiny, wrapped up in a little yellow blanket in Bill’s arms. Next to Bill, Fleur looks exhausted, but she’s absolutely glowing. Ginny, who heard some of the highlights of the past few hours, thinks that only Fleur would be able to look so graceful even after going through the ordeal of childbirth. She doesn’t resent her for it, though. After looking down at her niece, she doesn’t think she can resent Fleur for anything, ever again.

“Isn’t she perfect?” Mum says. Her cheeks are streaked with tears.

“Absolutely perfect,” Dad agrees.

Ginny steps a bit closer to them.

“Do you want to hold her?” Bill asks her softly.

Ginny nods. She’ll deny it until her dying day, but she feels quite tearful herself as she accepts the baby into her arms. “She’s so _small_,” she whispers. She looks down at the baby, who peers at her and then closes her eyes. Her big brother, with a small baby.

“Have you thought about names yet?” Ron asks, peering at the baby over Ginny’s shoulder. This is the softest she can ever recall hearing him speak.

“We have, yes,” Fleur says.

“We’re thinking… Victoire,” Bill says, proud smile on his face. “We wanted something French, and we thought… it’s been a year. Since we won. Her birthday is the anniversary.”

Ginny has to pass the baby to her mum, because her hands are suddenly shaking.

“Victory,” Hermione whispers.

“So that we don’t forget,” George says. He exchanges a glance at Ginny, and she feels even closer to tears than before.

“That’s a great name,” Percy says. He sounds close to tears, too, and Ginny has to look away.

Harry glances at Ginny, and she knows they’re both thinking the same thing, about their conversation at the Great Lake this morning – technically yesterday morning. It feels a million years ago now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever forget Fred, or the others, or everything they lost, but it doesn’t feel overwhelming now, the way it did this morning. They’ll grow together, all of them, and they won’t forget.

“We were thinking Fred, if it was a boy,” Bill’s saying, but Ginny, suddenly, is too distracted to listen to him. Victoire has all her attention, a tiny snuffly baby in her mum’s arms.

She takes a small step back, until she’s right next to Harry. She wonders if it’d be the same for her, if everything will be as exhausting and happy and rewarding as it seems to be for Bill and Fleur.

If she and Harry ever… if they ever… Of course, it’s a long time away. A few years, at the very least, and they haven’t so much as discussed it, but…

She turns to look at him. He must see something in her expression, because he leans in closer, until no one can hear him but her, and says, “What are you thinking about?” 

Ginny gives him a little smile. “I’m thinking… someday.”

“What?” Harry says, sounding confused.

“Someday. It’ll be you and me in that room, and everyone else waiting out here,” she tells him.

She sees the exact second he understands what she’s implying, because his eyes light up, despite his sleepiness. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms.

Harry doesn’t say anything, but he looks overcome with emotion. “Someday,” he whispers, and Ginny cuddles up into his side.

Someday.

* 


End file.
